


Ring My Heart Tied to Your Finger

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Racism, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: Sonny goes undercover to assist the ATF in a case against a white supremacists group and discovers the last possibility he ever considered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will not contain racial slurs, nor will it contain deep details about racist beliefs. I believe it is entirely possible to write this story and not use those things to tell it.

Sonny can't help but give the Lieu and Chief Dodds a skeptical look when the Lieu pulls him into her office and explains that he's getting rented out to ATF for an undercover gig.

"What? All their guys shoot their toes off or something?"

"They created a character, meant to only be used for online interactions," Dodds says, gesturing to a thick file on the Lieu's desk. "But things changed."

Sonny crosses his arms, his skepticism replaced by suspicion. "Why are you here, Sir?"

"I'm the Chief of detectives, _Detective_. Once Lieutenant Benson signs off, I need to add my own name, and we need to make this happen as quickly as possible."

"Why me?" Sonny asks. "There's got to be somebody at ATF or another federal agency who could step into whatever role they set up."

"The character's from Staten Island, fourth generation," the Lieu says, giving Sonny an amused look when he snorts. "He's got light hair and blue eyes, which are pretty important factors."

Sonny pulls a face. "Fuck me. This is white supremicists isn't it? Aryan Brotherhood or the Klan?"

Chief Dodds chuckles. "Good guesses, but neither. It's a newer group who feel that the Klan has gotten too soft and the Aryan Brotherhood is too casually violent."

"Now there's a couple distinctions no one should care about," Sonny mutters. He glances at the file on Liv's desk. "I assume they hate Catholics."

"It's a gray area, but I'd leave the rosary at home," Chief Dodds says.

Sonny considers the information he has. "I still don't see why I'm getting called up for this," he says, and the way Chief Dodds and the Lieu look at each other makes him sigh. "Something's gone wrong."

"Not yet," Chief Dodds says. "But there's concern. ATF has another person undercover. He's gotten enough information together that the government can put together a case for illegal guns and human trafficking, but there's no easy way for him to get it out. The entire operation's run from one tiny town upstate, and he's been there for months. He can't just suddenly leave. He needs to get caught with everyone else."

"Okay," Sonny says slowly. "So, my cover's got an excuse to just be up there for a short amount of time, then?"

"Yes," the Lieu says. "You've been going through a divorce, and it was just finalized a couple weeks' ago, and they've offered you a guest house to clear your head."

"Wow, I must be a charmer on their message boards."

"ATF's been working this character for over a year, gaining trust an inch at a time," Chief Dodds says. "It's the one good chance they have of getting someone in who isn't known by their face."

"So, what, the undercover guy is gonna find me and know I'm trustworthy because I've shown up at the right time?"

"You know him," Chief Dodds says. "He'll have a beard, and he goes by Mickey, but you'll know him when you see him."

"ATF says he used to be a detective in the NYPD," the Lieu adds. "They asked if he knew anyone who could fit the character's profile, and he named you."

"Who is it?" Sonny asks.

"Can't tell you that," the Chief replies. "You'll need some time to prep before you go, and the ATF doesn't want to hand over more information than necessary to get you started."

"And we're sure this guy knows me?" Sonny asks.

"Positive," Chief Dodds says. 

Sonny narrows his eyes. "You know who it is."

"I have an inkling," Chief Dodds replies, his face guileless. 

Sonny looks at the Lieu. She gives him a shrug. "It's your call, Carisi."

"I'm gonna do it," Sonny says. He'd known that the moment it was offered. "If I can help get these guys scrubbed out of polite society and keep one of ours from getting harmed, of course I'm in."

"It's appreciated," Chief Dodds says. He picks up the file. "You'll need to get started immediately. Come with me, and I'll make the necessary introductions with the ATF."

"That quick huh?" Sonny asks, looking at the Lieu.

"Don't worry," Lieu says with a smile, "I got the Chief to get me two detectives for while you're gone. They should be able to mostly keep up with you."

Sonny laughs. "Good job, boss. I'll see you when I see you."

"Be careful, Carisi. Come back in one piece, okay?"

It's been eight months since Mike died, but the grief is still in the Lieu's eyes. Sonny's certain it's in his own. "Yeah," he says around the lump in his throat. "If that's an order, I'm on it."

"It's definitely an order."

Sonny gives her one last smile then follows the Chief into the bullpen. "Can I tell Rollins and Fin what's up?" Sonny asks when they pause at his desk to collect his things.

"Benson will take care of it once you're out of the squadroom," Chief Dodds says. "But they'll know you're gone."

"Appreciate it," Sonny replies as he pulls on his suit jacket. He follows the Chief to the elevator, and they take it downstairs in silence. Sonny expects the ride to One PP to be as quiet or filled with inane conversation. He's surprised when the Chief clears his throat a few times before saying anything.

"I know you're very good at undercover," the Chief says, hands clenching on the steering wheel, "but use some extra caution for this one."

Sonny gives him a hard side-eye. "I know how to do this," he says. "I'm gonna listen and learn and do as I'm told by the feds."

"I know you are. You're a good cop, Sonny. A great one, honestly."

"What the fuck?" Sonny says, unable to stop himself. "Since when do you offer praise to anyone?"

The Chief breathes in and out slowly. "It's been a long eight months," he says.

Sonny can't breathe for a moment. He stares out of the windshield and blinks away tears. "We're not talking about this," he says. 

"I--"

"We are _not_ talking about this," Sonny hisses. "Mike told you we were dating a couple of weeks before he died, and you told him he was slumming it. You've rejected every chance I've given you to talk about Mike, and I gave you plenty. You don't get to suddenly open up because the ATF is putting me to work. Run from your emotions on your own fucking time, _Chief_."

The silence for the rest of the trip to One PP is worse than Sonny could have ever imagined, but he doesn't regret what he's said.

 _I love you,_ Mike had said to Sonny with a smile on his face like nothing could go wrong in the world. They'd been at Sonny's apartment, planning to watch a hockey game, and he's said it, just like that, as he'd set down a bottle of wine he'd bought on his way over. _And I know we've only been dating a few months, so maybe I'm jumping the gun, but I don't care. You're fucking amazing, and I want to scream it from the rooftops._

 _I love you, too,_ , Sonny had replied, feeling like he was going to float away. _Wow. Just. Holy shit. Yeah. This is good._

They'd laughed at each other's stunned faces, and Sonny had pulled Mike in close, stood on his toes so they could kiss, and nuzzled into Mike's neck as Mike whispered it in his ear and talked about how he couldn't wait to tell everyone.

He'd died two weeks later, and Sonny hadn't even been allowed to see his body before the funeral. Chief Dodds had insisted on a closed casket, saying it was too hard to see Mike's face in death.

*

Chief Dodds makes the introductions between Sonny and the ATF agents like Sonny hadn't just torn him a new one in the car. A consummate politician, Sonny thinks bitterly but keeps his own face neutral as he shakes hands.

"Can you grow a beard in two weeks?" Agent Branowicz asks, eying Sonny's smooth face. "That whole group has a thing about beards."

"Virility and masculinity and secret white guy powers or something," Agent Franklin says. "It's in the file."

"I can grow a beard," Sonny answers, liking the agents already. "How are we doing this?"

"You're going to read up, and we're gonna quiz you until you can answer questions in your sleep," Agent Franklin says.

"You can pick your own name," Agent Branowicz adds. "They only use handles on the messageboards. It's rule number two to post there. They assume the feds are constantly watching and waiting to bust them. Which, I mean, we are, but they're convinced their screen names can mask them almost entirely because they recommend everyone use a VPN."

"I'm guessing not everyone does," Sonny says.

"You guess right. And once we put a couple names with a couple faces, it was easy to add to the list."

"We sent the other guy in with just some basic info," Agent Franklin says. "He worked his way into their good graces face-to-face. There's a couple places online where a few members of this group talk about turning that town they're in into a white Utopia. Which is to say, it's already a hundred percent white, and they're working to get enough of their own people moved there to vote in rules to make it official. The guy who runs the whole show, his name is Morris Cathers, and he's lived there his whole life."

"Are there a lot of like-minded locals?" Sonny asks.

"There's only about 400 people there total, and those who aren't part of the group don't disagree with them, let's say."

"They're not racist, but…"

Franklin and Branowicz laugh. "Yup," Branowicz says. She gestures to the file that the Chief is still holding. "Look, we'll get out of here so you can get home and start cramming. We usually prefer a little more time to prep, but given the information our first UC has, speed is necessary. When we approached Chief Dodds with your name, he said you worked through law school while at SVU, and he figured if you could do that, you could learn all this quickly enough."

"He passed the bar on his first try as well," the Chief says.

"Most people do," Sonny replies, giving the Chief a cold look. "Don't oversell me."

The agents say their goodbyes. Sonny takes the file from Dodds and leaves without looking back.

*

Sonny spends two weeks growing his beard and getting used to his hair without product. The file includes every message the ATF created under his character's screen name (WhtNRite) along with bios and photos of a number of insiders. The group is called The Untouched Purity. They've been quietly active for about thirty years but have started to try and carve out their own place amongst the white power groups through subtle recruitment, gun running, and bringing in funds from small businesses all over the Northeast.

The human trafficking, Sonny discovers, isn't sexual. Instead, kids are removed from their parents and sent to unofficial group homes that are tied to the various businesses. The kids work for free, and the parents aren't allowed to contact them. If parents try to see their kids or send a note, the kid gets moved to a new location, and the parents are told nothing. Kids can also be shipped to new places if the person in charge at the group home considers them disobedient. Sonny's not surprised there's no clear list of what not to do. The goal isn't to teach these kids to follow the rules; it's to make them stop thinking and asking questions. 

A couple of teenagers who have managed to run away report it's common to be underfed and beaten. They spend every hour they're not working either asleep or focusing on Morris Cathers's pile of pamphlets and books about the superiority of the white race. Several of the pieces are included in the file, and Sonny has to force himself to get through them.

Branowicz and Franklin are sympathetic but unyielding when they quiz him. They come over every afternoon and run him through the names, dates, and details of both The Untouched Purity and his own character.

Sonny decides to call himself Samuel but still go by Sonny. "If we keep the junior on the end of my name, We'll say I was named after my dad, so everyone calls me Sonny."

"I like it," Franklin says, and Branowicz nods in agreement. "We just need a last name now."

"No Jones or Smith," Branowicz says. "It's a bit too on the nose."

"Windsor?" Sonny asks, and they all laugh.

"How about Thomas?" Branowicz suggests. "It sounds white as hell without being obvious about it."

"Samuel Thomas, Jr. But call me Sonny. I was named after my dad, so I've always been Sonny," Sonny says to see how it sounds. 

"Are you Sonny on any documentation they might dig up?" Branowicz asks. "Is the nickname anywhere they could find online?"

"Nope. Hell, half my squad doesn't even call me Sonny."

"Perfect."

*

Sonny spends his mornings and evenings on the message boards, learning more about his targets and immersing himself in the idea that his character likes these people. He plays up how hard his "divorce" was and says the right things about his wife taking the kids and moving three states over. He enthuses about the chance to fish on the lake just outside of town and offers to bring booze from the city since the town is in a dry county.

He also combs through the boards in search of "Mickey." Franklin and Branowicz had given him Mickey's screen name (RideNPride) so he knew who to trust. It's peppered throughout various threads, but Sonny notices he doesn't start any. Instead, other people tag him or mention him, and he shows up to respond. It's smart, Sonny thinks. People on the boards describe him as friendly and helpful. He can grill with the best of them and is absolutely trusted within the ranks. To question his loyalty, Sonny discovers when he reads a closed thread, is to be threatened with ass kickings.

Sonny wonders what it does to someone's psyche to spend months playing a part like this. Whoever Mickey is, Sonny's extra glad he can step in and help. Hopefully, he can get the information out but also give Mickey some tenuous connection to the world outside his work.

The day before he leaves, Sonny tries to get Franklin and Branowicz to tell him anything about Mickey. 

"He has to befriend you," Franklin says. "You can't approach him."

"I know that," Sonny says as he packs flannel shirts and jeans into a duffel. "But some sort of hint could help if he gets nervous."

"He won't. He's expecting you."

"And if you look surprised to meet him, you can say it's because you pictured him differently," Branowicz interjects.

"Fine," Sonny says with a sigh. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

Franklin and Branowicz exchange a look. "He won't be there the first couple of days," Branowicz says after Franklin nods. "He's running errands for Cathers. Moving kids around. It wasn't planned, but it'll give you a couple days to get used to things before you two see each other."

"I'll practice my poker face," Sonny says, giving them a grin in thanks. 

*

An hour before he goes to bed that night, Sonny's phone rings. It's an unknown number. He answers it after reminding himself not to use his last name, just to be extra safe. 

"Hey, it's Sonny. Who's this?"

"Carisi, it's Chief Dodds."

Sonny nearly drops his phone. He hasn't talked to the Chief since he made introductions. "Sir, now's not a good time."

"I'm aware of your schedule," the Chief says. "I just wanted to speak to you for a moment."

Sonny almost tells him to go fuck himself, but he bites back the urge. Instead, he waits in silence. If Chief Dodds wants to talk, he can do it without Sonny's prompting.

"Okay," the Chief says into the silence. "I just want you to know I think very highly of you and wish I could have said something different. You're a smart, capable, and emotionally honest person, and you deserved better from me."

Sonny can't breathe for a long moment. Chief Dodds sounds deeply sincere, and it reminds Sonny so much of Mike. He wipes at his eyes. "Thank you, Sir," he says. "I…" he has to clear his throat to keep speaking. "I appreciate hearing that."

"If you'd like to talk after you get back, please feel free to reach out. I'll give your number to my assistant. He can forward your call to wherever I am."

"Okay," Sonny says, feeling light-headed. "I'll remember that."

"Thank you for your time," Chief Dodds says. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Sonny replies and lets Chief Dodds hang up first.

He expects to be up half the night thinking about the phone call, but Sonny drops off almost instantly. He doesn't remember his dreams and thinks about how he's always believed that forgiveness can release you. He'd forgiven the Chief the moment he'd apologized, and he says a prayer of thanks as he carefully wraps his rosary over his hand then sets it in the drawer of his bedside table. He feels lighter than he has in months, and while it doesn't lessen his grief at losing Mike, it takes a weight off of him that he's hated carrying.

*

The town is named Jackson, and Sonny knows from his research that it's an intentional reference to the capital of the Confederacy. He fights the urge to flip off the hand-carved sign that welcomes people to "An Unspoiled Enclave." Wouldn't be good for him to blow his cover because someone saw him giving a sign the finger.

He follows the directions he was given by a man named Kevin, though Sonny has to pretend he doesn't know that. His screen name is BeerFed, and he was officially deemed the welcoming committee in the thread that arranged Sonny's whole trip.

The directions are easy to follow, and Sonny pulls up in front of a small community center five minutes after he passes the town sign. There's a man of about thirtyish waiting out front. He's wearing a flannel shirt open over a gray T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. There's a worn red ball cap in his right hand. Sonny's dressed basically the same, though he's in a white undershirt, and his hat is a Mets hat he's had since college.

"You must be White and Proud," Kevin says, holding out his hand as Sonny gets out of the car. "I'm BeerFed."

"Nice to meet you!" Sonny says, making himself smile widely as they shake hands. "Samuel's my name, but everyone calls me Sonny. I was named after my dad."

"Kevin," Kevin says. "Good drive?"

"It was beautiful," Sonny says. "I can see why you all like it up here."

"Well, more than one reason," Kevin says with a knowing look, and Sonny makes himself chuckle.

"This where you work?" Sonny asks, gesturing to the community center.

"No, I manage the grocery store. The community center's just the easiest place to meet people coming in to visit."

Because it has a clear view of the entire town square, Sonny thinks. You can see visitors coming from half a mile, at least. Especially if they're not supposed to be coming.

"It looks nice. You and your friends built it, right?"

Sonny lets Kevin tell him about building the community center. Sonny knows it all already, but it allows him a few minutes to fully sink into character as Kevin gets into the car with him and gives him directions to the far end of town.

"Larry's wife just changed the sheets in the guest house this morning," Kevin says as he has Sonny turn down a gravel road. "She got the windows open too, so it should be aired out when we get there."

"I appreciate the hospitality. I've really been looking forward to this. Just some time to relax and be around people who understand things, you know?"

"Definitely," Kevin says. "That's the whole point of Jackson, you know. To just be with people who understand us."

*

Larry's wife is named Charlotte. She and Larry live in the house next to the guest house. She greets them with I was tea and asks Sonny if he's heard from his girls.

"Finally got to talk to them last night," Sonny says, letting frustration color his voice. "Had to guilt Andrea for an hour though. I don't wanna be the guy who talks bad about his ex, but it's hard."

"A mother's place is with her children _and_ her husband," Charlotte says with deep sympathy. "We are all so sorry about what you've been through."

"That's very kind. Thank you," Sonny says. "Have you been on the message boards?"

Charlotte laughs like Sonny's told a very funny joke. "Oh, no, that's the boys' club. The other wives and I have our own places."

"She means each other's living rooms," Kevin says. "They say it's a study group, but Larry says it's mostly gossip."

"What do you study?" Sonny asks, though he knows it's the same books and pamphlets he's been reading.

"Just Morris's writings," Charlotte says. "Not in a weird way like those evangelicals or anything. We just think there are so many layers to his work."

"I've only read a little bit on the message boards," Sonny replies. "I'd like to read more if anyone can spare copies."

"Oh, the guest house has everything," Charlotte says, beaming. "Just help yourself. A lot of it doesn't get posted online because of how people want to misrepresent the ideas."

Sonny makes the proper sympathetic noises and keeps Kevin and Charlotte talking until Larry comes home from work. He greets Sonny warmly, but there's wariness in his body language. Larry is one of Cathers's lieutenants, and Sonny knows he'll be watching him very closely. If he decides Sonny isn't completely truthful, there could be trouble.

"We should give you a few minutes to settle in," Larry says after a few minutes of chit chat. "Let me help you get your bag out of your car."

"Oh, I can get it," Sonny says.

"I insist. You're our guest," Larry replies like Sonny knew he would.

Sonny opens the trunk of the car and lets Larry lift out his suitcase and the fishing rods he's brought. Sonny grabs the soft-sided rifle case tucked against the back of the trunk, then hauls up the box of booze he'd bought the night before. "Couple of people on the boards had some special requests," Sonny says as Larry looks into the box. "I thought the least I could do is bring enough for everyone in the neighborhood."

Larry laughs, and Sonny knows he's just scored a good point. "We don't have neighborhoods up here, Sonny. Just neighbors."

"Sounds great," Sonny says and lets Larry lead the way to the guest house.

*

Sonny eats with Larry and Charlotte that night. He tells them about his "ex" and their two daughters. His stories are about Jesse and Billie, but he's renamed them in his head because he doesn't want even their names in these people's mouths. 

He hides under the covers to write a report about his day using Google docs. Franklin and Branowicz will download it and wipe the original from his Drive, just in case someone finds a reason to go through his phone.

The next morning, Charlotte feeds him breakfast, and Kevin shows up to give him a proper tour. It takes less than half an hour, and then Kevin leaves him at the guest house so he can go to work.

Sonny gets an itch under his skin. He doesn't need to gather information. He's here to retrieve it. But it doesn't feel right to be under and not be learning something. He ends up laying in a hammock tied between two trees in Larry and Charlotte's side yard with a book by Cathers that the ATF hadn't had a copy of. There's nothing new in it, so Sonny spends some time mentally listening off the logical fallacies and composing counter arguments in his head.

"You look deep in thought," a man says as he walks up to Sonny. It's Morris Cathers, but Sonny isn't supposed to know that. 

"It's an interesting read," Sonny says, holding out his hand. "I'm Sonny. I'm staying in the guest house."

"I know who you are," Cathers says with a smile that's clearly supposed to be endearing. "I'm Morris Cathers."

Sonny feigns shocked surprise and watches Cathers swell with pride at being known and respected. Sonny asks him questions about his writing and pretends to listen with a bit of awed interest.

"I shouldn't keep you," Morris says after Sonny's sucked up for a solid fifteen minutes. "I just wanted to say hello and let you know we're having a cook out at the lake tonight to welcome you properly. You can meet some more of the people you've been talking to."

"Wow, that sounds great," Sonny replies. "From everything I've heard, you've got a lot of people who really know their way around a grill."

"We do," Morris agrees, and his eyes light up. "In fact, our best griller just called to say he's going to be able to make it. He was travelling for work, but his trip got cut short, so he'll be back later this afternoon."

"I can't wait to meet him," Sonny says. "Who do we consider the best griller? I don't want to guess wrong when I get there."

Morris laughs. "His name's Mickey. You can't miss him. He's tall, and he'll be camped out with the burgers."

Sonny wonders what happened on the road that Mickey had to cut his trip short. Morris doesn't seem concerned, but Sonny knows from experience that the best con men can keep a straight face through anything. "I look forward to meeting him," he says.

*

Sonny takes a shower late in the afternoon. He takes longer than usual, using the absolute alone time to prepare himself to see Mickey face-to-face. He's been running through a list of possible cops, but the only person he knows can do deep undercover is Amaro, and there's no way he's going to pass in this crowd. He decides it must be someone who knew him at the academy or someone who worked with him in a previous squad before he landed at SVU. Maybe they heard about his undercover work through the grapevine.

He peeks through the blinds in the bedroom when he hears a few voices. A small group of men are walking towards the lake, which is a quarter mile from the guest house. They're in flannel shirts and jeans, but their shirts are buttoned up, and no one's wearing a ball cap. Cathers's views espouse always giving off an All-American masculinity, but he also says a man should know when to dress himself up a bit. A cook out with a new guest they've been talking to online for months seems like a reason to polish up just a smidge. Sonny flashes himself a wry smile in the mirror as he pulls on a fresh pair of jeans. His mother would be proud of their effort if they weren't a bunch of racists. 

He picks a flannel at random and discovers it's too large on him. The shoulders hang down, and the cuffs are too wide. He stares at it for a long moment before he realizes it's Mike's. They'd laughed more than once when they'd met up for lunch or breakfast and discovered they had the same taste in day-off clothes. Henleys and flannels and jeans. Sonny hadn't even realized any of Mike's shirts had made it into his apartment.

Sonny hangs the shirt back up and takes a moment to steady his breathing. He pulls out a blue and black flannel and slips it on, then sits down to put on his boots. There's a knock on the front door of the guest house, and Sonny walks over to open it, zipping his jeans as he goes. 

Kevin and Morris are at the door, both of them dressed similarly to what Sonny's already seen. "Hi, guys!" he greets, stepping aside so they can come inside. "I'm thirty seconds from ready."

"Then we caught you just in time," Morris says. "I always like to walk with guests to the cook out."

"And I'm tagging along since I'm the welcoming committee," Kevin says with a self-deprecation he doesn't sell. He's clearly thrilled to be walking next to Morris and trying to downplay it. Morris doesn't pick up on his excitement at all, clearly taking Kevin's adoration as his due.

"Give me just a minute, then," Sonny says. He walks back to the bedroom and buttons his shirt before tucking it into his jeans. He goes back into the living room to sit and tie his boots. He pushes his hair straight back off his forehead when he straightens up. 

"I have to be honest," Morris says, stroking his beard, "I'm surprised a man named Sonny can grow a full beard."

It's meant to be an insult, but Sonny isn't supposed to pick up on it. He scratches his nails through his beard and laughs. "My name's not the only thing I got from my dad," he says.

"You're Scottish, right? At least partly," Morris says. 

"My dad's full-blooded," Sonny says. "Mom's English and Danish."

"That's a good bloodline."

Sonny waves a hand down at himself. "Well, it got me where I am today."

Morris chuckles, and Kevin only joins in after he does. "I'm not trying to grill you," Morris says. "I just have an eye for these things." He taps by his own eyes. "The blue eyes are always a good hint, though. That's how you know someone's got an especially pure bloodline."

Sonny nods like he's been told a real secret and manages a smile thinking of how hard his parents are going to laugh when he tells them about this asshole. His eyes and his nose are as Italian as anything else about him, but he knows from Cathers's writings that he considers Italians "dirty" and not fully "pure." 

"Looks like you're ready," Morris says and stands up. "Let's go."

"Lead the way," Sonny replies.

When they get close to the lake, Sonny can't help but be impressed. It's set up with several picnic tables and half a dozen permanent grills like you'd find at a park. There are lanterns strung around poles that are evenly spaced around the whole area. Closer to the lake, there's a fire pit with benches surrounding it.

"We built it all up ourselves," Morris. "Kevin oversaw a lot of it."

"It was a group effort," Kevin says to Sonny. "We're big on that here. We should all be working together to make the world better, you know?"

"Sure," Sonny agrees, briefly picturing dousing the entire area in lighter fluid and setting it ablaze. "You really get to know people when you work on a common goal."

"Exactly," Morris says. He leads Sonny to a table absolutely groaning under side dishes and the booze that Sonny brought. "The ladies outdid themselves, but that's true every time," he says, gesturing to the food. "And I'd like to personally thank you for bringing beverages. That was very nice of you."

"I'm glad I could contribute something," Sonny replies. 

Morris reaches into a cooler next to the table and pulls out two beers. "Feel free to start with anything you'd like, but I tend to prefer beer before my meal."

"A beer sounds great," Sonny says and pulls his keys out of his pocket, showing Morris his bottle cap keychain. He feigns mild embarrassment as Morris opens the caps by hand. "Well, I look like a jackass," he says.

The men milling around the table laugh. "Don't worry," Larry says, coming up on Sonny's left. "They're not twist offs. Morris just likes to show off a little."

"Well, I'm impressed," Sonny says, repocketing his keys. "The last time I tried that, I shredded my hand."

Morris hands him a beer and holds up his own. "I'll make a big toast later, but for now, welcome."

"Thanks," Sonny says and taps their bottles together before taking a long drink. The moment he's done, men are walking up to introduce themselves and their wives. Sonny greets everyone warmly, glad as always for how sharp his memory has always been. He can pull out a fact about every man he speaks to when they say their screen name, and he asks each lady what they made for the meal. He knows better than to ask the wives about any opinions. Charlotte telling him the message board was a boys' club painted the gender segregation line clearly. Franklin and Branowicz had assumed as much given how other white supremicist groups built gender segregation into their beliefs, but they hadn't been sure. Sonny plays it as safe as possible and sees the men approve of him, which means their wives will follow suit, at least if asked.

Half an hour later, Sonny's in the middle of a group of men as they discuss what fish live in the lake and the best bait to catch them. He's been careful to nurse his beer while making it seem like he's drunk more than he has. Everyone around him has cracked their second already, and while no one's forcing him to keep up, they're clearly watching him. 

Sonny takes a long-looking drink from his bottle, though he manages to keep most of it from getting in his mouth. "Gonna catch up with you fellas," he says, and they all pat him on the back as he breaks from the group to head back to the cooler. There's a large trash can next to the cooler, empties already piled in it. Sonny drops his bottle in so it lands at an angle, the rest of his beer quickly dribbling out. He pulls another beer from the cooler and is pulling his keys from his pocket to get to his bottle opener when someone stumbles into him from behind. 

"Oh, hell!" a man yells, and Sonny freezes momentarily, the voice sounding entirely too familiar. "Sorry, man," the man continues as he presses a hand between Sonny's shoulder blades and walks around him. Sonny finishes fishing his keys from his pocket and doesn't look up right away. He can't. Because he's hearing things.

"Sorry," the man says again. "I was rushing for the grill and didn't see you." A large hand comes into Sonny's view, even though he hasn't lifted his head. "You must be the visitor. It's Sonny, right? I'm Mickey."

Sonny clasps the hand, and forces himself to look up. Mickey has a high and tight going shaggy at the top and a full beard. His smile is welcoming but impersonal, and Sonny has to swallow back a scream. 

Because Mickey is absolutely and without question Mike Dodds. And Mike Dodds is absolutely and without question dead.

"Yeah, I'm Sonny," he manages to say and is impressed at how placid his voice is. "I hear you're pretty great on a grill."

"I get by," Mickey says, and for just a second, Sonny thinks maybe he was wrong. Maybe this guy just looks eerily similar to Mike. But then Mickey taps his middle finger twice against Sonny's palm and breaks the handshake. It's the signal they used when they wanted to hug or touch at work but couldn't do more than shake hands. 

What the actual fuck is happening, Sonny thinks, but he can't ask, not here in front of everyone. "Well, I look forward to trying your food," he says.

"I'll do my best," Mickey--Mike. It's Mike. How the fucking hell is it _Mike_ \--says before taking two steps backwards before turning on his heel and walking to the grill.

Sonny has to force himself to look away. He has to force himself to open his beer. He does not have to force himself to take a huge drink, but he does have to force himself to stop. All he can think as he walks back over to the men talking about fish and asking them about their favorite bait for trout, is how, exactly, is he supposed to keep his shit together for the next twelve days?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to inkatewetrust for tackling the beta on this first chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Sonny goes blank for nearly twenty minutes. He makes small talk about fishing, about football, and about the weather. He doesn't remember a single thing anyone says to him after they've said it and is grateful he's not here to remember details.

Morris walks over as Sonny lets another conversation about nothing much wash over him. He grabs Sonny by the shoulder and announces that he's personally walking him over to Mike's grill for an introduction.

"Oh, we met earlier," Sonny says. "I don't want to interrupt him."

"He won't mind," Morris says with the utter confidence of a man who is not told no very often. "Besides, you've got something in common."

_Oh, did he think I was dead for eight months?_ Sonny thinks half-hysterically as he matches Morris's stride to be led over to the grills.

"Mickey, this is Sonny," Morris says. "He says you two already met."

Mike glances up from the grill and flashes Morris a self-deprecating smile. "Well, that's polite of him. I literally smacked into him."

Morris chuckles. "You're not very graceful today. You sure that blow to the head didn't concuss you?"

"Nah," Mike replies. "I'm feeling fine. The Ibuprofen took care of the headache."

"You got hit in the head?" Sonny asks without thinking. His heart rate picks up, and he has to fight to keep his breathing even.

"I got tapped," Mike says with a shrug.

"Some guy tried to mug him," Morris explains, and Sonny doesn't believe him at all.

"That sucks," Sonny manages to say.

"Not a moment I want to revisit," Mike says, looking at Sonny this time. He's got a friendly smile on, nothing personal to it. Sonny wants to hit him with his beer bottle.

"I wanted you two to talk a bit," Morris says. "Sonny's wife left him and took his girls. Given what your own mother did, I thought you could sympathize."

Sonny's gut twists hard. What Mike's mother had done was show up at his funeral and cry herself to near-hysterics. His brother had sat at her side weeping and staring at Chief Dodds with contemptible silence. Sonny knows the family history. There was a quiet but acrimonious divorce. Mike's mother took the kids with her. Mike cried for weeks afterwards because he missed his father so much. His mother had sent him back because he wanted to go, and she wanted him happy, even if it meant splitting up her children. She had known Sonny and Mike were dating and had looked forward to meeting him the next time she was in the city.

_"Mom loved me enough to let me make my own decisions,"_ Mike had said the night he told Sonny the whole story, _"But she hated Dad enough to assume he tricked me, and Matthew decided he had to choose a side, and he chose Mom."_

"Oh, that's rough," Mike is saying to Sonny, looking down as he flips a couple burgers. "My mom left my dad and took me and my brother with her. I wanted to be with my dad, but she never let me. She'd come up with excuses for us not to see him and always tell us lies about him."

"That's what I worry about," Sonny says, playing his role. "Like, she barely lets me get them on the phone."

Mike whistles low and points his spatula at Sonny. "Man, that shit should _not_ fly. Especially not nowadays. Father's rights get jerked around more than anyone else's."

Sonny wonders how much Mike hates having to say this shit. What's it like to spew easily disproven lies and absolute hatred day in and day out? Sonny was already feeling for whoever 'Mickey' might be, but now that Mike's standing in front of him, alive and well, Sonny's heart breaks for what a good man he is. He blew up his entire life to take this gig in the hopes of helping people. Sonny wants to scream until he absolutely ruins his voice. He wants to pull Mike in hard and hug him until they both stop crying in relief.

"Wow, you really hit a nerve," Morris says to Mike, gesturing to Sonny's face. "You got our guest teary-eyed."

Mike looks Sonny in the eyes and for a brief moment, Sonny sees apology all over his face. "Sorry, man," Mike says, still keeping their roles. "But you won't get any shame here. If there's a reason for a man to cry, it's his kids, right?"

"Yeah," Sonny says, swallowing hard. "Big time."

"You two keep talking," Morris says. "You're gonna help each other. I can tell."

Sonny gives a stiff nod and watches Morris walk off. He glances around. There are people milling around everywhere. Now is not a good time to ask for the information he wants. He takes a deep breath and resigns himself to a wait he can't guess at, then asks Mike about himself.

Mike gives him Mickey's background as he continues to grill. He's unmarried after a string of unsuccessful relationships that he blames on the lack of a strong father figure. No kids, suddenly unemployed ten months before after twenty years on the job at the same factory, denied a promotion, then fired when he filed a complaint with HR because the guy who took his job had had half his experience.

"And of course they made it a race thing," Mike says with heavy contempt as he moves the burgers onto a serving plate. "Acting like the guy's got more education or some shit when I've got twenty years of honest experience, and he's walking around with his master's degree shoved up his ass."

Sonny makes the proper noises and carries the burger over to the food table. Kevin walks up to him and asks for Sonny to join him at his table.

"We don't have assigned seats or anything," Kevin says, "but everyone on the upper end usually sits together, so Mickey's gonna be with Larry and Morris."

"Thanks for the heads' up," Sonny says as he follows Kevin to get in line for food. "Saves me from embarrassing myself."

Kevin grins. "Hey, happy to help."

Sonny rocks back on his heels, glancing over at Morris, who is currently in a hushed conversation with Larry, Mike, and two other men. Everyone looks relaxed, but Sonny catches the way Morris clenches his hands for a moment, and he wonders if Mike's in danger. "How long have you been with the group up here?" Sonny asks Kevin. 

"Couple of years," Kevin replies. "I was really involved in the boards beforehand though."

"Did you visit, too?"

"Yeah, a couple times. I was ready to move up just from what everyone said online, but Morris said I had to visit first. He wanted to get my measure, right? Make sure I really was dedicated to what's going on here."

"Well, you've proved it," Sonny says. "This eating area shows that as clearly as anything else."

Kevin beams. "Thanks, man. It's nice to hear that. I'm just glad I can really contribute to things here."

"How did everyone else end up here?" It's a piece of information that hadn't been in Sonny's research, and he's trying very hard not to keep glancing at Morris and the assorted men. Asking a question he doesn't have an answer to will hopefully keep him occupied.

"Some people find the message boards and other people meet us when we're out and about. I mean, we all like living here, but it's not some gross cult compound. We can come and go whenever we want for the most part. The only thing is that if Morris needs your help, you're expected to listen to him."

Sonny pretends to think that over, using it as an excuse to glance towards Morris again. The back of his neck is getting read as he continues to talk to the group he's in. Mike's standing with his arms crossed and his chest puffed out, giving off an air of surly determination the others are mirroring. "Makes sense," he says as he looks back at Kevin. "Jackson's here because of him. The least we can do is pitch in when he needs us."

Kevin's grin gets wider, and he thumps Sonny on the arm in a friendly way. "Exactly, man. We gotta say thanks somehow."

*

Sonny eats and drinks another beer and watches as the assembled crowd proceeds to get drunk on the liquor he brought with him. The women are allowed to drink as much as the men, Sonny discovers, and he wonders if Morris allows it as a way to deflect from any claims of sexism that may come against him.

He's opening a fourth beer when Mike stumbles up to him. His shirt is untucked, and he throws an arm around Sonny's shoulders with so much force that Sonny nearly falls over.

"SONNY!" Mike yells. "SONNY SONNY SONNY. WE GOTTA TALK, MY MAN."

"You gotta stop yelling in my face first," Sonny replies, pulling away.

Mike presses a finger to his own lips. "Sorry," he says in a loud whisper. "I'm just excited, not drunk."

Sonny hears a snort and turns to see who it is. It's an older man with thinning hair and huge biceps. He's looking at Mike with weary fondness.

"He's gonna ask you a hundred questions in the next half hour and forget everything you told him by morning," the man says. "Then he's either gonna realize he's drunk and need help getting home or forget he's drunk and start harassing someone else."

Sonny laughs. It's genuine. He can't imagine how much information Mike's mined with this trick, and it's brilliant. "Will he actually walk in half an hour?"

"Oh, yeah," the man replies. "Mickey's a good guy."

"Bart, you are the best!" Mike loud-whispers with his fingers still over his lips. "This guy is the best," he tells Sonny with the deep sincerity of the absolutely sloshed.

"Half an hour of this?" Sonny asks Bart with faux-worry.

Bart laughs. "If he goes longer, tell him he's out of beer. He'll get up to find one, and you can escape."

Sonny shrugs and grabs a half-empty bottle of Jack off the table. "Hell, I'm behind everyone anyway. I'll take a hit every time he repeats himself."

Bart lets out a belly laugh and slaps Sonny on the arm. "Good luck, kid. Remember he outweighs you."

Sonny salutes Bart with the bottle, then turns to the side, pulling Mike along with him. "Hey, man, let’s sit down."

"I looooove when new people visit," Mike says as he drunk-stumbles them towards the fire pit. There's a bonfire going, but most of the benches are empty. Mike sits hard on one and yanks Sonny down by his sleeve. "This place is so great. We all get each other. We all caaare."

"I've noticed," Sonny replies, sharing a quick, amused look with the man and woman on the next bench as they quickly get up and move along. The woman mouths 'good luck,' and Sonny gives a shrug.

"Here's the thing," Mike says, throwing his arm around Sonny's shoulders again. He pauses, listing to one side, then straightens up abruptly. "The thing…" he hunches forward and brings Sonny with him. Their heads nearly touch. "I got a bunch of questions because we should all know each other," he whispers in a drunken rush, "but I wanna keep it private because I don't want you to think I'd tell everyone your business."

"Sure," Sonny replies in a normal speaking voice. He sees someone approach the bonfire, spot them, and then deliberately sit on the other side, clearly hoping to avoid getting noticed by Mike.

"Shhhhhh," Mike says, pointing at Sonny. "You gotta whisper, too, or this won't work."

"Sorry," Sonny replies in a whisper. "That better?"

"That's great." Mike holds up his beer and takes a sloppy drink. He wipes a fair amount of beer off his chin when he's done. Sonny follows his lead, taking in a little whiskey but faking a longer drink by keeping his lips pressed closed.

"Good," Mike says, nodding with extreme concentration. "You can always trust a guy who drinks with you."

"Damn right," Sonny says. "What do you want to know?"

Mike takes a long moment before he answers. He sways a bit and burps quietly, then pushes his face even closer to Sonny's. "Making a good impression?" he whispers, stone cold sober.

Sonny's relieved. He'd honestly started to worry that maybe Mike really was drunk. "Think so. Everyone's definitely trying to sell me on this place."

"Good. Morris ran a deep dive background check. It cleared. He currently considers you above suspicion. Do your usual level of work, and I know we can pull this off."

Sonny has to fake another drink of whiskey at the use of "we." "Give me some tips."

"Be a sycophant to Morris. Ask him to explain his writing. With Larry, it's about helping him find new recruits. In a couple of days, ask to take some pictures to send to a cousin. Or ask if you can do a video to send to some guys from work. Something that makes it clear you have people around who may be sympathetic to the cause. Bart's another lieutenant. Get his wife to like you. She won't want to like you, but I know you can win her over. If she likes you, Bart will like you."

"Got it," Sonny says. 

"I'll be around, but you may not see me much," Mike continues after taking another drink of his beer. "I'll get you the information I have, but I'll need to come to you."

"I know," Sonny says. He pats Mike on the back like they're having a good time. "What about Kevin? Seems like he's trying to climb the ranks."

"He's ruthless. Whatever you do, don't piss him off." 

Sonny catches something in Mike's eyes that disappear when the bonfire flickers. "Are you okay?" he asks without meaning to. 

Mike stares at him for a long moment. "Don't ask me that right now. It's not fair to you. I know I owe you a thousand apologies and a very long explanation about why I did what I did. Just let me keep hoping you'll listen when I'm done with all this, and I'll make it through, okay?"

Sonny has to fight not to pull Mike into a hug. He does his own drunken sway, so he can be pressed hard against him for a moment instead. "I'm so fucking mad at you," he says, "but I'd rather be fucking mad at you alive than to be grieving that you're dead."

"If there had been any other way--"

"Tell me later," Sonny says, feeling his own control unthreading. "I'll listen. I promise."

"Okay," Mike says. "Okay."

They sit in silence for a few seconds, pressed hard against each other. When Mike shifts away, so does Sonny. 

"I like you!" Mike says, back to his drunken revelry. He turns on his heel and smiles at whoever is sitting across from him at the fire. "Hey, Oscar, you meet Sonny? He's the best."

"You say that about all of us, Mickey," Oscar says, grinning at Sonny. He stands and walks over to Mike, slapping him on the back. "Come on," he says as he trips over his feet and catches himself, "Let's see if there's cake left."

"CAAAAAAKKKKKKEEE," Mike whoops, and he and Oscar stumble away together.

Sonny stays on the bench for a few more minutes, rocking side to side slowly like he's had a few too many. He watches the fire pop and sway, and he takes one real drink from the whiskey bottle. It burns all the way down, and he lets it settle before he stands and fake-stumbles to the guest house. Along the way, someone grabs his arm to steady him, and he looks over and gives a wide smile. "This place is great," he says, slurring the 'c' in 'place.' "You're all awesome."

"Thanks," the man says. Sonny doesn't know who he is. "You need help getting your boots off?"

"Nah," Sonny says with an exaggerated wave. "They're easy."

"Okay, gonna get you to your door at least, all right?"

"See? This is what I mean. You're great."'

The man laughs. "Man, you and Mickey are a real pair."

You don't know a tenth of it, Sonny thinks as he lets the guy open the guest house door and help him inside. He drops onto the couch and bends over, making a show of fumbling his laces for a moment before getting his boots off. "Ta-da!" He says, throwing himself against the back of the couch so he can kick up his legs.

"All right, you're good," the man says. "Sleep well."

Sonny waves goodbye and sags against the couch. He listens carefully to make sure the man leaves, and then he slumps forward, palms pressed into his eyes. He wants to cry so badly, but he can't. If anyone overhears him, it could lead to someone offering sympathy, and Sonny can't lie about why he needs it. He can't play it off as his ex taking his kids. 

He breathes deep and steady, calming himself by degrees until his eyes are no longer wet, and he no longer feels like screaming. He lifts his head and listens. He can still hear people down by the lake. The party will likely run into the wee hours. Sonny stands and walks to the bedroom. He strips off his clothes and drops into bed, pulling the covers over his head. He keeps his report as short as possible. He's ingratiating himself. He's made contact with Mickey. More to follow as it develops. He locks his phone and tucks it under his pillow.

There's a print on the wall of a nuclear family posed outside a picket fence. Sonny stares at it for a long time. Mom, Dad, son, daughter, and the dog. There's an American flag in the background. Everyone in the photo is blond. Sonny falls asleep staring at the dog and trying not to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to mforpaul handling the beta for this chapter and finding my extra-long sentences!


	3. Chapter 3

Sonny wakes up before dawn. He doesn't remember his dreams, but his eyes are wet like he's been crying. He's turned over in the night, away from the family print. There's a painting on the wall he's facing. It's rows and rows of corn in a never-ending field. In the foreground, a farmer is measuring the height of the corn against the height of a small girl in pigtails. She's staring out from the painting with a heavy solemnity that doesn't fit the feeling of the painting.

Sonny rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He lets himself think about last night. About the weight of Mike leaning against him. About how close they ducked their heads together. About Mike's attempt at an apology. Sonny sits up and laces his hands behind his neck, hunching into himself. His body aches like he's lost a fight. He stretches his back and neck and forces himself out of the bed. 

He runs the shower as hot as he can and sits on the toilet while the bathroom fills with steam. He leans over so his elbows are on his knees, and he can rest his head in his hands. 

He cries. Relief and confusion and anger and love press hard against his ribs, and he cries as hard and as messily as he's ever cried in his life.

_I owe you a thousand apologies,_ Mike had said, and Sonny knows he's due, but right now, he just wants to cry until he can't anymore. To be relieved that Mike is alive if not entirely safe, and to be so fucking grateful he's in this terrible place because it means he's not in the ground. 

Once his breathing starts to even out, Sonny gets up and takes his shower. The steam, as planned, has kept him from getting horribly congested, and now that he's gotten the tears out of his system, he feels like he can do what needs doing today. 

He thinks over Mike's advice. Befriend Bart's wife, he'd said. Beware of Kevin. Tell Larry he wants to show the place off. Stroke Morris's ego.

Sonny gets dressed and shoves his phone in his shirt pocket. He picks one of Morris's books he read for research and carries it in one hand as he walks out of the guest house. Charlotte's on her back porch, which faces the guest house at ninety degrees. She smiles at the sight of Sonny and holds up her coffee mug in silent offer.

"Please," Sonny calls as he crosses the space between the two houses.

Charlotte stands up and goes inside. Sonny takes the three steps up to the back deck and settles in the chair next to her. There's a small table between the two chairs, and when Charlotte comes back outside, she sets down a fresh cup of coffee and a small plate with three doughnuts.

"Did you make these?" Sonny asks, picking up a doughnut.

"Oh, no, I don't bake, really," Charlotte says as she settles in her chair again. "Larry got up early and got them from the bakery in town before he left on errands."

Sonny checks his watch. It's only a little past eight. "Wow, he's an early riser."

Charlotte chuckles lightly. "Not usually this early, but Morris needed him to take care of a few things."

Sonny wonders if any of those 'things' are related to Mike's head injury. "Kevin mentioned last night how much everyone works together here," he says. "I like the sound of that."

"We're a real community," Charlotte replies, "not just a bunch of strangers in some big apartment building."

"Exactly," Sonny says. He takes a bite of his doughnut, then takes a drink of coffee. Charlotte looks out at the scenery, so Sonny opens the book he's brought, making a point to thumb forward a few pages like he's already started it.

"Oh, that's one of my favorites," Charlotte says, having seen what he's reading.

"I just started it," Sonny replies. "What's your favorite part?"

"Chapter six. It explains how people can build up a town like we have."

Sonny remembers chapter six. It recommended finding dying communities and buying up land and opening businesses. It gave explicit instructions on how to make sure you could, with enough racists, take over a city council and start to pass laws that would "discourage" people of color from moving in.

"I just love the idea of other people building what we have," Charlotte continues. "An honestly safe place, you know?"

"My neighborhood was like that growing up," Sonny says. "We never locked our doors, and we all watched out for each other."

"Exactly," Charlotte replies, pointing a finger at him. She reaches out and squeezes his arm, giving him an honest smile. "I'm glad you're here, Sonny. You feel like just the right kind of person for Jackson."

Sonny pats her hand and manages not to shudder. "Well, I'm so glad you're all here," he says. "You make me feel at home."

*

After breakfast with Charlotte, Sonny walks to the small park that's been built up near the entrance to the neighborhood. He passes Morris's house and glances in the front picture window. Morris is on the phone, pacing back and forth and looking agitated. Sonny thinks back to the conversation he saw last night and to Larry's early exit this morning and feels tension tighten his belly. 

There are mothers at the park, supervising as they watch the small kids play. They all greet Sonny by name and ask how his stay is. He assures them he's doing well and begs off more company by holding up his book.

"Oh, that's the best one," Maria says, beaming. "That's the one my husband had me read to understand why he felt it was necessary to be a part of things here."

"Maria's a convert," another woman says, which makes Maria laugh. "But we try not to hold it against her."

"Hey, I learned, right?" Maria replies, and the women all laugh and wave as Sonny walks away. 

He sees a bench, then stops short when he realizes Mike's crouched next to it with a screwdriver. Mike hasn't seen him yet; he's facing the other way. Sonny can't help looking him over for a moment, checking the width of his shoulders and the length of his back, checking them against his memories to see if he'd forgotten anything.

Mike stands and turns, a scowl on his face. He spots Sonny, and his eyes light up. "Oh, hey!" He points the screwdriver at Sonny. "I was gonna come see you later."

"You were?" Sonny asks, taking a couple of steps forward. There's still a good amount of distance between them, enough that they don't look like they're conspiring, Sonny figures.

"Yeah. Mike rubs the back of his neck and looks down, sheepish. "They told me this morning you were the latest victim of my twenty questions bit."

"Hey, no big deal," Sonny replies with a shrug. "As long as you really don't remember anything."

Mike makes a whooshing motion over his own head. "Completely blank," he says. "I always swear I'm gonna watch my intake at a cook out, but everyone has so much fun, I just want to keep up, you know?"

"I felt the same way," Sonny replies. "What are you working on?" he asks and gestures towards the bench.

"There's a couple of screws that have rusted in place, and I'm trying to replace them," Mike says. "I can't do a lot of heavy lifting with the whack I took to my head, so Morris sent me out here to do some of the lighter work."

Sonny puts his book on the bench, then crouches down to inspect the legs. He sees the rusted screws. There are four of them. "You WD-40 them?"

"Like it was going out of style, and they're still not budging." Mike copies Sonny's position and hands him the screwdriver. "I don't want to strip them, so I don't want to get a drill."

"Sure," Sonny says. The screws are holding a decorative strip of wrought iron to the legs. Sonny cranes his neck to see the other side and stares for a moment at the washer and nut on each screw that have clearly not been lubricated. Mike's always joked that Sonny's the true handyman of the relationship, but Sonny knows Mike knows enough to check for other hardware before fighting a rusted screw.

"Saw you coming," Mike says in an undertone. "Figured I'd have some plausible deniability."

"Hand me the WD-40," Sonny says in a regular voice. They're a good fifty yards from the mothers watching their kids, but that's no reason not to keep up appearances. 

Mike passes over the can, and Sonny sprays down the nuts and washers. "What happened to your head?" he asks as he sprays.

"Plausible deniability," Mike replies. He gives Sonny a quick, wry smile when he cuts him a look. "Defection," Mike says so quietly Sonny almost doesn't hear it.

Sonny hands Mike the screwdriver. "You got a wrench?" Mike hands it over, and Sonny fits it on a nut, adjusting the wrench with his thumb before he starts to loosen it. "A ratchet would be easier," he says. He knows Mike knows that, but Maria is walking by with another of the moms and three kids. 

"Good morning, Mickey!" Maria calls. "How are you feeling? How's the head?"

"As thick as ever," Mike replies, tapping his knuckles against his skull.

Maria and the other mom laugh and lead the kids away.

"I'm not really a tools guy," Mike says, still clearly playing the role of Mickey. "Kevin usually just hands me what's useful and does a quick explanation, but he had to head out early this morning."

"Earlier than usual?" Sonny asks in an undertone as he undoes all the nuts.

Mike makes an affirmative noise, then says hello to other people walking by. They also ask after his head. 

Sonny gets the washers off and hands the hardware and the wrench back to Mike. He picks up the screwdriver and starts working on the screws. They all come out easily now that they're not held in from the back, and Sonny drops them into his palm while Mike holds the crossbar steady. By the time they're done, the mothers and kids have left the playground.

"Play time for the little kids is nine to nine forty-five," Mike says quietly. "Afterwards, they go to a half-day of nursery school."

"In town?"

"No, over next to Bart's house. His wife is technically the headmistress, but she rarely does any work with it. The title was a gift for her loyalty to the cause."

The school's focused on indoctrination then, Sonny thinks. "I haven't seen her yet today. When's a good time to suck up?"

"Bart's here running things while Morris has Larry and the others out looking for the defector. You're getting a dinner invite tonight."

"How do I win over Bart's wife?"

"Tell her your ex is against teaching your daughters real life skills."

Sonny thinks about that as he takes the new screws from Mike's hand. He can't help himself from brushing his fingertips lightly against Mike's palm. Mike's fingers twitch like he wants to grab Sonny's hand. "Sorry," Sonny murmurs.

Mike doesn't say anything, just puts the crossbar back up so Sonny can screw it into place, then twist on the washers and nuts by hand. "I shouldn't have called you over," he says when he takes the screwdriver back from Sonny. "They're keeping an eye on me right now. I told them the kid overpowered me, and they believed me, but they're antsy. I should have waited to talk to you later like I planned."

"Jesus," Sonny breathes, "how big was the kid?"

"Six-five and all muscle," Mike replies. He stands and stretches his back. Sonny copies him. "He came back from a job placement a few weeks ago and was getting into everyone's face. He met a girl, and she lent him some books."

"Opened his eyes," Sonny says.

"Yeah. He told me on the drive to his new placement that he was going to run away the first chance he got. I took him at his word and offered to help."

Sonny's whole body clenches. He's tempted to yell, but he can't. He leans forward, pretending to stretch out his lower back. "Are you fucking crazy?" he hisses.

"I read the room and made a call," Mike replies as he stretches his arms and ducks his head. "I don't need this from you."

Which means he's already heard it from Franklin and Branowicz, Sonny thinks. Fucking good. "You're gonna hear it from me later," he says because he can't help it. He hears a muffled laugh but doesn't look at Mike. Everything's climbing to the surface again, and it's taking everything in Sonny to keep it tamped down. 

"Thanks for the help," Mike says, thumping Sonny on the back when Sonny straightens up. "Enjoy the book. I really like chapter ten."

Sonny gives Mike a nod and retrieves his book from the bench. He doesn't remember the theme of chapter ten. He flips ahead to it as he sits on the bench:

_The Threat of the Homosexual to the Continued Growth of the White Race_

Sonny takes a quick look around to be certain he's absolutely alone before he starts to giggle. He can't believe Mike just tricked him into that, but he's also grateful Mike has it in him to do it. He's telling Sonny he's okay in whatever way he can, and Sonny has to blink away tears at the sweetness in it. That's Mike all over, he thinks and flips back to the front of the book. 

*

Sonny's on the bench an hour later when a woman of about sixty walks up to him. When he looks at her face, he realizes it's Bart's wife, but he doesn't know her name. Bart had only introduced her at the cook as, "and this is my wife," using the tone of a man who was used to people knowing who he and his family were. 

"You're Sonny," she says as she stands over him. "I'm Summer."

"Bart's wife," Sonny says when she pauses for recognition. She gives him a tiny, approving smile. "You made that fantastic ambrosia salad." That's a lie. The ambrosia salad had been even more sickly sweet than Sonny was used to, and he'd never liked it in the first place. He'd once made Mike howl with laughter as he described in detail why it was one of the worst things to come out of mid-century cooking.

The tiny smile does not change, but Summer offers her hand. "Yes, that was me."

"It was really fantastic," Sonny says, taking her hand and shaking it gently. "Would you like to sit down with me?"

The tiny smile grows this time. She approves of his gentlemanly manner, Sonny thinks. She sits on the opposite end of the bench, and Sonny retakes his own seat, making certain to place the book where she can see it.

"How are you enjoying your visit?" she asks.

"It's been great. The guest house is very nice, and everyone's been very welcoming."

"I helped decorate the guest house," Summer says, and Sonny knows a cue when he hears one. She wants to be praised for her good taste.

"Where did you focus your time?" he asks.

"I chose all the art."

Sonny thinks about the blond family with the dog and the farmer with the sad-eyed child. "I was noticing the art in the bedroom yesterday," he says. "I really liked how the picture with the farmer felt like Norman Rockwell."

"That's exactly what I was going for," Summer replies. "I love his work."

There's no way she does, Sonny thinks, if she gets a sad-eyed child from any of it. "What's your favorite piece in the guest house?" he asks to keep her talking.

They chat about the art in the house for several minutes. Sonny keeps the conversation focused on her, and Summer subtly preens under his praise. When there's a lull in the conversation, she looks down and sees the book. 

"How are you liking the book?" she asks.

"It's so invigorating," Sonny says, and he feels like it's mostly true. Wanting to punch people in the mouth is a _sort_ of invigorating. "He does an amazing job of explaining things clearly. I've got friends who have been sort of struggling with my views on things, and I think access to more of Morris's work could really help them."

"Well, that's Charlotte's domain," Summer says, a quick pinching of her lips telling Sonny that she doesn't think Charlotte is up to the task. "She's Morris's librarian, so to speak. If you have people you think can be helped with his work, she can send you home with a few things."

"That would be amazing. Thank you for letting me know that." 

Summer's sudden smile tells Sonny she's happy to hear Charlotte hasn't told Sonny to speak to her about getting books for people. "I help where I can," she says. "Speaking of, I would like to invite you to dinner tonight. I know you've eaten with Charlotte and Larry for the most part, and I thought I'd let Charlotte get a bit of a break from being hostess."

Sonny wishes he could have recorded that invite so he could play it for Amanda later and listen to her laugh at how passive-aggressive it is. "That's very kind of you," Sonny says, "As long as you're sure Charlotte won't feel insulted."

"Oh, no," Summer says with a lazy wave of her hand. "We all share the guests here."

She's a bad liar, Sonny thinks. She looks entirely too pleased with herself. "What time should I show up, and what can I bring?" he asks. "I've got my car, so I'm happy to run into town if you need anything."

"Don't worry about anything," Summer says. "I've even got fixings for a fresh ambrosia salad if you're up for it."

Sonny would rather eat Amanda's idea of a medium rare steak. "Absolutely," he says. "That's so nice of you."

"You're our guest," Summer says, preening again as she stands. "I'll leave you to your book."

"Oh!" Sonny replies like he's just thought of it, "What's your favorite chapter?"

"Chapter seven," Summer says. She gives Sonny a sad look. "Oh, I should have said something else."

Sonny flips to chapter seven. He's clearly supposed to react where she can see him:

_Teaching Young Women to Be True Wives_

Sonny counts to ten as he stares at the title and makes a show of swallowing hard. "That's an important chapter," he says, giving Summer his best sad eyes.

Summer gives him a deeply sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry. I should have picked something else. I heard about your daughters."

Sonny nods slowly, keeping his eyes open so they fill with tears. "My ex doesn't think they need real life skills," he says. 

Summer clicks her tongue in disapproval. "Not even the basics?" she asks. "How to boil an egg or sew a button?"

Sonny shakes his head sadly and presses his lips together, doing his best to seem wounded and disappointed.

"We'll talk at dinner," Summer tells him. "There are ways to teach your daughters even if you're not there."

Sonny has a sudden stab of fear at the resolution that slides across Summer's face. She's egotistical and haughty, but she's also a true believer. It's a terrifying combination. He gives her a smile and promises to be at the house at six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buying up a dying town is an actual tactic used by some white supremacists to create "racially pure" enclaves. "Welcome to Leith" is a documentary from 2015 that follows a tiny town in North Dakota fighting to save their community from being taken over. High recommend.


	4. Chapter 4

Sonny makes a point to dress slightly more nicely for dinner than he has before. He still wears a flannel, but he switches his jeans for a pair of Dickies and his work boots for dress shoes. He also runs to the grocery store and buys a small bouquet of flowers from the cold case. Summer had said he didn't need to bring anything, but Sonny knows better. 

Bart's the one to open the door when Sonny knocks, and he chuckles when he sees Sonny's slacks and the flowers. "Oh, you're gonna be Summer's favorite quick," he says.

Sonny smiles and steps over the threshold. "My dad taught me you dress nicely for dinner, and my mother taught me you never show up empty-handed."

"Well, that's nice to hear," Bart says, thumping Sonny on the back and leading him to the dining room. "Summer!" he calls, "Sonny's here!"

Summer comes out of the kitchen wearing a dark green dress and a spotless white apron with tiny embroidered flowers on the pockets. "Well, don't you clean up nicely!" she says. She makes a show of accepting the flowers, smelling them deeply and then hurrying back into the kitchen to find a vase.

"Don't know how you knew to get daisies, but they're her favorite," Bart says.

"My girls love daisies," Sonny replies. "It's what they'd have picked."

Bart gives him a sympathetic look and gestures to the table. "Have a seat," he says. "Let me get you a beer."

Sonny sits and listens as Bart walks into the kitchen. There's a hushed conversation, and he wonders what they're saying to each other. When Bart comes out of the kitchen, he's carrying two beers, and there's an air about him that makes Sonny’s instinct prickle. 

"Here you go," Bart says, putting the beer next to Sonny's plate. "Summer says it'll be another fifteen minutes on dinner, so I thought we'd just chat some."

"Sounds good," Sonny replies. 

It's general small talk for a few minutes. Bart asks him the same questions Sonny's been answering from everyone else. He tells the sob story about his divorce and how everyone on the message boards helped support him through it, and Bart nods along. 

"You were raising them on Staten Island, right?"

"Yeah," Sonny answers. "Born and raised there myself, you know? I wanted my girls to be as close to family as possible."

"Lots of Catholics on Staten Island," Bart says evenly.

It's a test, Sonny knows, just like he'd expected from his research. "My dad's always joked that we're surrounded. Can't go half a block without someone offering you fish on a Friday."

Bart laughs. "I like that. Fish on a Friday." He takes a drink from his beer. "We're not anti-Catholic like some groups," he says.

Sonny's not surprised Bart doesn't elaborate. This is about getting a read on Sonny, not on Bart explaining things to him. "If it works for them, that's fine," Sonny replies. "That's how I've always felt. They can do their thing with their saints and their idols, and I can do mine."

"Exactly," Bart says, and Sonny knows he's passed the test. 

"Summer says some of the moms saw you talking to Mickey in the park," Bart continues, and Sonny's instinct snaps to attention. He's being reported on. It's not surprising given that he's the new guy, but given that Mike has to be on at least slightly shaky ground for the defection makes his pulse quicken. 

Sonny makes himself chuckle. "Yeah, he was apologizing for talking my ear off at the cook out, and then I gave him a hand with the bench he was repairing."

"Nice of you to do that."

Sonny shrugs. "I like to help."

Bart hums and watches him for a moment. "What'd you talk about at the cook out? Anything fun?"

"Well, he was having a great time," Sonny says. "Questions on questions just like you warned me."

"He ask you if you had any single sisters?" Bart asks. He thinks he's saying it casually, but his eyes are too serious for it to be a joke. It's another test, higher stakes than the last one. Sonny's the new guy, and he's talked to Mickey twice in two days. On one of those days, a person ran from the group. Bart is fishing to see if Sonny is involved.

Sonny laughs as his instinct burns down his spine. "No, I didn't get that one. Does he ask it a lot?"

Bart laughs with him. His shoulders loosen. Sonny's passed again. "Not often, but I tease him about it," he replies. 

Sonny's certain Mike's _never_ asked about any single sisters to anyone. Bart's invented it as a way to test for false positives. He makes himself chuckle again, and is grateful when Summer comes out of the kitchen carrying a casserole dish.

Sonny compliments the casserole (too salty) and listens intently when Summer explains that the whole salad came from the vegetables in her garden (Sonny eats a quarter of a tomato that still has the grocery sticker on it). He beams when Summer brings out the ambrosia salad and makes sure to take seconds when offered (he wants to brush his teeth immediately).

"I'll tell you my secret to a good ambrosia salad," Summer says, giving Sonny a conspiratorial look.

"I'll guard it with my life," he replies, and she chuckles at him. 

"You have to use more maraschino cherries than they recommend. No one ever uses enough cherries."

That explains why it tastes so close to cough syrup, Sonny thinks. "How much more do you use?"

"Well, now that would be telling," Summer replies, "and a lady needs to have a few secrets."

Sonny laughs along with Bart as Summer smiles at her own joke. 

They chat over decaf coffee after Summer clears the table, and Sonny makes a point to excuse himself just before eight. He thanks them both, shaking Bart's hand and letting Summer give him a dry peck on the cheek. Walking back to the guest house is difficult. He has to seem carefree and happy to be welcomed. He can't show that he's worried for Mike and for the information he's here to smuggle out. He has to meander past Morris's house and pretend not to see the closed curtains or his car missing from the driveway. He wishes he knew which house was Mike's, but it's probably better he doesn't. He can't slip up and slow down when he walks by to check and see if Mike is there.

Charlotte is on her front porch when Sonny walks past. She waves, and he walks over to say hello. "How was dinner?" she asks. 

"It was good," Sonny replies. "Summer and Bart are very nice. How was your day?"

"Same old, same old," Charlotte says with a wave of her hand. "Larry's still out and about. Do you want to come in for a beer or something?"

Sonny honestly can't tell if she's testing him or being friendly. "No, thank you," he says. "I'm so full from dinner, I think I might fall over."

Charlotte looks mildly disappointed, and there's a twitch on the edge of her mouth that tells Sonny she doesn't like that Summer usurped her. "Well, I suppose I'll see you in the morning, then."

"I wouldn't miss your breakfast even if I woke up full," Sonny replies with a smile, and it does the trick. Charlotte perks up and wishes him good night. 

Sonny lets himself into the guest house and closes the door behind him. He fights the urge to lock it. No one locks the door here. He can't raise suspicions. 

He pops his neck and walks to the bedroom, the efforts of the day hitting him hard. He strips out of his flannel and kicks off his shoes, then drops on the bed. He takes his phone out of his pocket and drops it on the nightstand, then pauses when he sees some crumpled papers in the wastebasket.

He hasn't put anything in the wastebasket.

Sonny stares at the wastebasket for a few moments before he stands up and walks over to it. He pulls the crumpled papers out one by one and smooths them over his leg. One's a packing list--shirts, jeans, slacks, boots, nice shoes, underwear, toiletries, charger. All the items have been crossed off. The second piece of paper is a set of scribbled notes about questions to ask while he's visiting. In the lower corner, there's a series of doodles: a cross; a tree; and two little dog heads, one of them lazily colored in with black pen.

It's Mike's handwriting. Sonny has a dozen little notes tucked away at home that match the shape of the e's in the packing list and the sloppy curve of the lowercase 'q' in 'questions'. 

It's Mike's doodles, too. At least the dogs are. The cross and the tree, those are things Sonny doodles without thinking. But the dogs, those are Mike's. He'd always done them as a set, but once he and Sonny started dating, he'd always colored one in black. Amanda had joked it was an excellent portrait of the two of them, and Mike had grinned and added a heart next to every doodle after that. 

Sonny checks the doodles again. A cross, a tree, and the dog heads. There's space next to the dog heads, just enough to scratch a heart. 

Sonny weighs what he knows: this is Mike's handwriting with papers disguised to look like his own. Mike found a way to sneak in here and leave them. Mike trusted that no one would come in and dump the trash. He's creating a way they can communicate without being seen. 

Sonny finds a pen in the desk--black like the other doodles--and he adds the heart, paper pressed against his knee as he traces and re-traces it a few times.

There's room under the list of questions--all things Franklin and Branowicz had coached Sonny to ask--for more notes, and there's even a bullet point already there. Sonny stares at the bullet point, then adds one more thing. 

_Coming back???_

If someone _does_ go through the trash, it's vague enough to look like Sonny's wanting to ask to return. He hopes Mike will understand what he really wants to know: Is Mike coming home after this? Will Sonny get to hold him close and curse him out and be fucking grateful to smile at him again? 

He crumples the papers back up and puts them in the wastebasket again, then finishes stripping and flops onto the bed. He writes his report in five minutes. He's still here. He's still waiting for the information. He tucks his phone under his pillow and turns out the lights. It takes him awhile to go to sleep, but he feels relaxed when he finally starts to drop off. 

*

The next day, Sonny eats breakfast with Charlotte. She tells him--without any prompting--that Larry will be out of town for a couple of days. 

"I hope I'm not putting you out while he's away," Sonny says as he considers what Larry being gone could mean. 

"Oh, no, I love the company," Charlotte replies. "You feel free to come and go as you please, still. I've got plenty to keep me busy."

Sonny returns her smile and sips his coffee. "I'll do that. But let me know if you need any help with anything, okay?"

"Thank you, I will."

*

Sonny takes time to visit around the neighborhood that day. He makes small talk and gleans the information he's looking for. Bart's still here, but Kevin's gone as well. He spots Mike walking somewhere with a weed whacker in his hand and makes himself go in the opposite direction. Morris's car is back in his driveway when Sonny walks past, but the front curtains are still closed. He keeps moving, walking through the park, then down a street that's mostly empty except for a just-started structure with a dozen men working to set up a frame.

"Morning!" One of the men calls, waving at Sonny. It takes Sonny a moment to place him. His name is Nathan. He's a contractor and engaged to someone's daughter from the main part of town. She hadn't been at the cook out, but she'd sent a pineapple upside down cake. 

"Morning!" Sonny replies, lifting his own hand in greeting. He can't remember anything about this building, so he figures it didn't come up. "What's this going to be?"

"Library," Nathan says. He hops down from the foundation and walks over to Sonny, removing his hard hat on the way. "There's one in town, but it's tiny and the building's falling apart. It's easier to build a new space that's up-to-code and move everything over."

Sonny nods, taking in the size of the thing. "What's this? 3000 square feet?"

"Good eye. It's 3500 with room to expand," Nathan says. "Here, I can show you the plans."

Sonny follows Nathan to a small trailer with a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. It smells like wood shavings and concrete dust, and Sonny has a sudden memory of playing in a trailer on a site when he was a kid, his grandpa overseeing some new building or another, watching Sonny while Bella was being born. There's a photo of it somewhere, Grandpa at the desk reviewing papers, and Sonny in front of the desk, drawing something with crayons and looking just as intent.

Nathan picks up a large, rolled piece of paper and opens it on his desk, laying it flat with various items from his desk. "Okay, so this is the front entrance, which is facing the street you were walking down."

Sonny nods and lets Nathan give him a tour through the blueprint. There's the main library room, a media room, two conference rooms, and an office and breakroom for staff. There's also a space for an outdoor area that will include a community garden, and an area marked off for an outdoor theater space. Sonny's stomach twists as he looks at it all. It's an impressive plan, something that could really help a small community thrive.

"Wow," he says, not having to fake the awe in his voice. "This is a major project."

"Yeah, but it'll be worth it," Nathan says. "We've done a lot of research on what bigger libraries are doing nowadays and are going to incorporate as much as we can. It's important that the people around here know that we're dedicated to building a place where their kids can grow up and not miss out on experiences."

"Yeah," Sonny says. He taps his finger on the outdoor theater area. "What sort of shows are you going to do?"

"Whatever people want, really. The high schools around here don't have space to put on shows, so we're going to offer it up free of charge for senior plays or drama club meetings."

"Smart," Sonny says, a sudden sickening dizziness overtaking him for a moment. He powers through, asking about the media room and the community garden, saying all the right things to make Nathan grin. 

"We're really proud of it," Nathan says a few minutes later as he rolls the plans back up. "You should come back when it's done and see it in action."

"I'd like that," Sonny says. He follows Nathan out of the trailer and shakes his hand as they say goodbye. He walks down the rest of the street, then turns left, taking a circuitous route that lets him get back to the guest house without running into anyone who wants to talk to him. He goes inside and gets one of the fishing poles he brought, then he knocks on Charlotte's door and asks if she has a chair he can sit in. 

"Of course," she says, gesturing him inside. "If you just want to sit down there all afternoon, I can make you a couple of sandwiches, and I know Larry will be fine with you taking a few beers. We've got bait, too."

"That'd be great," Sonny says. "Thank you."

Charlotte gathers everything quickly, filling a small cooler with ice packs and cubes, then putting together sandwiches and plucking beers and bottled waters from the fridge while keeping up a light stream of conversation. She tells Sonny he's free to catch and release as much as he likes, but if he does keep anything to cook, it has to be at least five pounds or as long as his forearm.

"Well, actually, given your forearms, lets say three-quarters," she says, giving him a smile as she tucks a styrofoam container of bait down into the ice.

Sonny smiles back, the sickening dizziness washing over him again as he takes the cooler and grabs a folding chair from Charlotte's back shed and walks down to the lake. 

He sets up in the shade, getting as close to the water as he can. Baiting the hook takes a couple of tries. His hands are shaking. He manages on the third attempt and flicks his line into the lake as far as he can send it. He reels it in slowly, watching the bobble drag across the water. 

It takes three casts and reels before the dizziness subsides and Sonny can think clearly about what he'd seen at the construction site. A library with resources the town of Jackson has never had. A library that will encourage people from neighboring communities to come into Jackson, and then into Morris's carved out space that the people of Jackson don't disagree with. A library that looks like the absolute best dream any rural librarian has ever had, but it's run by these people. Indoctrination disguised as community space. Growing the ranks by providing much-needed technology and shelf space.

Sonny casts and reels. Again and again. He thinks of all the children going to nursery school. They'll use that library. They won't have any reason to think it's untrustworthy. He thinks of all the well-meaning teachers who will use that theater space, knowing who built it and what they believe but desperate for any options that allow their students to fulfill their hopes of making art. He thinks of all the soft racists in Jackson, who would never use a racial slur where someone might hear them, but who will be quietly glad there's a "safe" library that likely won't push their children to think or ask about anything that makes their parents "uncomfortable."

He casts and reels for hours, never catching a thing, but not wanting to, anyway. It's bad enough to be here, to play pretend. He doesn't want to do a goddamn thing to help this community thrive. He doesn't want to hand Charlotte a single fish to eat. 

He wants to find Mike and run back to the city, this entire goddamn case be damned. He wants his rosary in his hand and Mike sleeping warm and heavy next to him, and for the world to be just good enough that places like this can't exist. 

But that's not how it works, the logical part of his brain says, and you know it. 

Sonny casts and reels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to SoundsWithinSilence for the beta work! You're a champ!


	5. Chapter 5

His wastebasket is empty when Sonny walks into the guest house bedroom that evening, and he aches at the sight of it.

He sits at the desk and opens the notebook he brought with him, the one that Mike had found and made his own notes on. He stares at the blank page for a moment, wondering what to say. He takes a deep breath before he starts writing, remembering all the little things about Mike's handwriting so he can match it as close as possible. 

_Dear Jesse and Billie,_

_I want you to know that I miss you, and that I still love you. I hope you're safe, and I can't wait to hug you again. When I see you again, we'll stay home all weekend and watch movies. We can build a blanket fort and sleep in it. I'll kiss you goodnight as many times as you want._

_I'm sorry about everything you've been through. I know it's been hard for you. I know you think Daddy's mad at you, but I'm not. I know you're where you have to be, and I know it'll all work out._

Sonny stares at the letter, wondering what else to tell Mike. Everything else he wants to say hurts too much to even think about. He scrawls the two dog doodles on the lower corner of the page, coloring one in black, then he tears the page out of his notebook, crumples it up, and throws it away.

He sleeps poorly and takes an extra-long shower to get his head clear. He needs to be on his game. They're watching him. They're watching Mike. If either of them seem off-kilter, it could harm the other. Sonny takes a deep breath and crosses himself in the safety of the shower. He says a quick prayer for Mike and for himself, that they can pull this off and get the hell out. 

There's a knock at the door as he's buttoning his shirt, and Sonny takes an extra moment before he answers, just to be sure he feels like he can sell what he has to. 

It's Morris. He looks like he hasn't slept well in a few days, though he's clean shaven and well-dressed. "I need to apologize for being an inattentive host," he says in greeting. "We had a minor emergency at a couple of our businesses, and it's eaten up a lot of my time."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sonny says as he wonders exactly what it means. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No, unfortunately," Morris says, stepping aside so Sonny can step out of the guest house. "We had a few people quit all at once. Just bad timing."

Sonny nods, doing his best to project sympathy while wondering if other kids have defected as well. Given what he knows about the businesses, it has to be what's happened. But Morris won't tell. The human trafficking isn't supposed to be public knowledge, so he just makes a sympathetic noise as Morris continues talking.

"I've got four understaffed stores on my hands, but I didn't want you to think you'd been forgotten," Morris says as they step off the porch. "Charlotte was kind enough to make an extra plate so I could join you two for breakfast."

"That's great," Sonny says, making a mental note that Morris had doubled the number of businesses that had lost people. How big a defection had happened in the last few days, Sonny wonders. "I've been hoping we could talk."

Morris nods and leads him into Charlotte and Larry's house, not even bothering to knock. Charlotte's pouring coffee into three mugs on the table when they walk into the dining room, and her smile is huge. Sonny figures it's a big deal to feed their noble leader during a crisis, and Charlotte must be over the moon.

"So," Morris says when they sit down and Charlotte starts to serve them eggs, "What shall we talk about?"

Sonny pretends to think it over, like he has a dozen questions he's been holding onto for just this moment. "I mean, really, I'm just happy to listen to you speak," he says. "I was reading one of your books, and I had a couple of questions about how your teaching fits into organized religion. I mean, you're obviously not trying to tie things to religion, but I was raised Methodist and still go to church sometimes, so if you talk about the ways things fit together, I'd really appreciate it."

Morris puffs up like he's about to do a mating dance, and Sonny pays him half-attention as he launches into a whole spiel. He'd chosen the question precisely so he wouldn't have to listen too hard. Odds are good that Morris's views on religion and white supremacy aren't anything different from white supremacists who _do_ tie their views and religion in a double knot. Three sentences in, Morris starts to parrot the same things they all say, and Sonny tunes him out, just making interested noises to keep him talking through the whole meal. It gives him at least the semblance of a break from all of this mess.

Charlotte's gathering their dishes when there's a knock on the kitchen door.

"I'll get it," Morris says, and Charlotte gives him a smile. Sonny stays put, sipping his coffee and managing not to choke on it when Morris walks back into the dining room with Mike following behind. 

"Sonny, could you excuse us?" Morris asks. "I hate to rush you out of someone else's house, but Mickey and I need to discuss something private."

"I'll get out of your way," Sonny says as fear trickles down his spine. He stands and leaves, saying a quick goodbye to Charlotte when she sticks her head out of the kitchen. He wishes he could come up with a reason to stay, but he has no power here.

He goes back to the guest house and tries not to look hurried as he walks into the bedroom.

The wastebasket is empty.

Sonny stares at it and wonders if all the communication is going to be one-sided. He drops onto the bed and throws himself against his pillow.

Something crinkles under his pillow.

Sonny sits up straight and stares at the pillow. He glances around, but the blinds are drawn, and he'd hear someone if they were in the house. He gets up and clears the guest house anyway, needing to be absolutely sure he's alone before he picks up the pillow.

There's an envelope with the tell-tale bulge of a flash drive. On the outside of the envelope, there's a message in Mike's handwriting. 

_Wait an hour, then say you're going into town. Pack nothing. Get the fuck out._

Sonny rips open the envelope and dumps the flash drive into his hand. He looks down at himself, wondering where to hide it. He's in jeans and a flannel. It's too warm to wear a jacket today. The flash drive will show itself in any pocket he puts it in.

He tucks the drive against his palm as he walks to the bathroom, keeping the envelope between his fingers. The bathroom has one tiny, frosted window, and the door locks. It's the safest place Sonny has to make a plan. He sits on the lid of the toilet and presses the drive between his palms, running through his options again. His shirt and jeans are out. It won't fit in his wallet. He might break it if he slips it in his shoe. He can't trust that it won't fall out of his sock.

His underwear. 

Sonny stands and opens his belt, then his jeans. He shoves his jeans down his thighs and stares at his underwear. They're boxer briefs, so he likely won't lose anything down a leg hole. He wraps the flash drive in a few layers of toilet paper and tucks it down the back of his shorts. He does up his jeans and belt and checks himself in the mirror. Nothing looks out of the ordinary from any angle he can see. The drive presses against his tailbone, and Sonny knows it's gonna get uncomfortable on the drive out, but better that than to get caught.

He tears up the envelope, dropping the pieces into the toilet, and he flushes them down. If anyone comes looking, there's nothing to see.

He steps out of the bathroom and pauses to listen. It's quiet. Sonny walks into the bedroom again and opens the closet. He grabs Mike's shirt, the one he'd packed by mistake, and then he sits on the bed, holding it between his hands and figuring out how to smuggle it out. He feels stupid for even considering it. Mike's alive. Sonny doesn't need a momento.

But Mike's also warning him away and clearly providing a distraction for Sonny to make a break. What if something happens to him? What if he really dies this time?

Sonny's phone rings, making him jump. He fumbles it out of his pocket and stares at the string of numbers. He presses the 'Answer' button and puts the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"It's me," Agent Franklin says. "How's your vacation?"

"Just fine," Sonny replies. "Really nice up here."

"Good to hear. I was doing some digging on the family history with mom, and she says it looks like we might have a relative in Jackson. Some great-great-great-uncle or something. She was hoping you'd run by City Hall and see what records they have."

It's an escape plan. The trickle of fear Sonny's been dealing with turns into a torrent. "Yeah, I should be able to do that. What's the name?"

"Asa Lambert."

Sonny wonders what's going to happen when he says that name at City Hall. "I'll see if I can find anything."

"Cool. Talk to you later."

"Yeah. Bye."

Sonny disconnects the call and checks the time. He doesn't know how long he's been sitting here with Mike's shirt in his hands, but if Franklin is giving him instructions, then Mike's order to wait an hour is voided.

He turns the flannel over in his hands again, but he can't bring himself to leave it behind. He can't change into it; that'd be too obvious. He folds it, then folds it again, and then a third time. He tucks it under his arm, deciding he'll make up some lie if he gets caught. It's stupidly reckless, but he doesn't care. Who knows what the fuck is going to happen next. He wants whatever piece of Mike he can keep with him.

There's no one around when he steps out of the guest house, keys in hand. He forces himself to walk casually to his car. He's unlocked the door and slid into the driver's seat when Charlotte steps out on her front porch and sees him.

Sonny waves and opens his door a little farther as she walks over. He drops the shirt on the far side of the console, hoping it's hidden as she gets close.

"Headed somewhere?" she asks. There's wariness running through her whole body, and Sonny has to pretend not to see it.

"My cousin called. She and my mom are big on the family tree and think they tracked down a relative who lived here. They asked if I could pop into City Hall and check what they have."

"I've done some research on local history," Charlotte says. "What's the name?"

"Asa Lambert," Sonny replies, trying to plan ahead if she says she doesn't know it.

"There's a lot of Lamberts in Jackson," Charlotte says. "Three different families with that name moved here around the same time in the 1800s."

"What are the chances only one of them was named Asa?" Sonny asks.

"I don't know. It was a fairly common name at one point. You should ask your cousin If they have the name of a parent or sibling. That could help narrow it down."

"That's a good idea. I wouldn't have thought of that," Sonny says and watches the way Charlotte seems pleased to be appreciated. He wonders if Mike and Morris are still in her house. He wonders what made her look so wary. "Need anything while I'm in town?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you. Think you'll be back in time for lunch?"

"I guess it depends on how many Asas there are," Sonny says. He gives Charlotte his best smile. "But I should definitely be back for dinner."

"I'll have a plate waiting," she says.

"Great." Sonny closes the door and starts the car. He waves as he starts to pull out of his parking spot. Charlotte waves in return. Sonny glances in the rearview mirror as he prepares to turn onto the road and sees Charlotte hurrying towards the guest house. Sonny shivers as he drives away. She's going to check if he's taken his things. He's sure of it.

His palms sweat all the way into town. By the time he pulls into City Hall, the steering wheel is sticky from how damp his hands have been. He grabs Mike's shirt, pressing it under his arm as he gets out of the car and walks into the building.

An elderly gentleman with a benign smile greets him. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for some information for the family tree," Sonny says, hoping his own smile looks as unassuming. "A man named Asa Lambert."

The man nods slowly. "Well, we've got a lot of Lamberts around here. Your best bet will be to talk with Leslie. She's our archivist." The man picks up a phone and presses an extension. 

Sonny sits in one of the chairs next to the door and holds himself still. He can't seem nervous or short-tempered. He needs to appear like he's just on an errand for his mother, nothing to stress over, nothing to be noticed for. 

"She'll be out in just a second," the man says.

"Thanks," Sonny replies.

Leslie comes out a minute later. She's short and fit, with shoulder-length hair pulled back into a ponytail. If she's not a fed, Sonny will eat his hat. "Hi," she greets, holding out her hand, "I'm Leslie. You're looking for information on Asa Lambert?"

"I am," Sonny says. "My mom thinks he's a great-great-great something or other."

"Well, if you'll follow me, we can take a look at the records."

Sonny follows her. They go down a small hallway, and then into an office. The moment the door closes behind them, Leslie's demeanor changes completely. The polite friendliness is gone, and she gives Sonny a hard once-over.

"Followed?" she asks in an undertone.

"Not that I know of."

"I didn't see anyone either," she says, and Sonny suddenly realizes there's a window to one side that looks out on the parking lot. She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a cell phone, dialing and gesturing for Sonny to sit in the empty chair across from her desk.

Sonny sits carefully, very aware of the flash drive he's still hiding. 

"Hi. Yeah, he made it. Hold on." Leslie holds the phone out to Sonny. "It's Agent Franklin."

Sonny takes the phone. "Hi."

"Follow Leslie's instructions. She'll get you out of there."

"What about M--" Sonny stops himself just in time. "Mickey?"

"We're handling it," Franklin says. She sounds stressed.

Sonny swallows hard. "Is he safe?"

"We're handling it," Franklin repeats. She sighs. "Sonny…"

Sonny waits her out, gripping the phone so hard his knuckles ache. 

"He might be a bit bruised when he gets back, but we'll get him back to you, okay?"

Sonny drops his head. He stares at Mike's shirt, which is in his lap, his other hand clenched around it. "How much--"

"I got a brief overview when he called to say he was getting you out for your own safety. When we asked him for someone who knew him, and he named you, he left out a couple of things."

"Yeah, he'd have had to, huh?" Sonny says. He rubs his thumb back and forth over Mike's shirt. "It was the best choice," he says. "I fit the bill."

"Well, we prefer not to have so many layers of emotional fuckery in play," Franklin replies. She sighs again. "Branowicz is en route to grab him. Leslie's good people. Do what she says, and she'll get you the hell out of there with minimal fuss."

"Copy that," Sonny says. 

"Good. Hand the phone over, will you?"

Sonny holds the phone out, and Leslie takes it, turning away from him as she begins a quiet, intense conversation with Franklin. Sonny tunes her out, spreading his hands over Mike's shirt and wondering just how bruised Mike will be when he sees him again. Does that mean Morris or Kevin or Larry caught Mike in his lie about the kid getting away? Is he getting held down right now while they hit him or threaten him?

"Okay," Leslie says, cutting through Sonny's thoughts. "Franklin gave me the latest details about how you know Dodds, and let me tell you, this is a fucking mess."

Sonny laughs, her frankness cutting through the cloud of his thoughts. "Yeah," he agrees.

"You really thought he'd been dead the whole time we had him?"

"He was shot on the job," Sonny replies, tears forming as he thinks about it. "He'd just come out of surgery and was starting to wake up. His dad was in the room with him, and me and the squad were waiting our turns to see him. Then a whole lot of people ran into the room, and the Chief got pushed out, and a few minutes later, they said he'd died."

"Christ," Leslie says giving Sonny a deeply sympathetic look. "What a story."

"Eight months," Sonny says, unable to stop talking now that he's started. "I thought he was dead for eight months, and then...there he was."

"You must be hellaciously good at undercover not to have decked him on instinct."

Sonny's laugh is watery. "I'm one of the best," he says. He looks down as the tears start to fall. "Shit."

"I'm gonna go get some records of the various Lamberts that live around here. We need to spend a little time pretending like we care about that anyway. Cry if you need to. I'll bring back a bottle of water. And the next time I'm in the city, I'm buying you and your guy a _pitcher_ of whiskey and tearing him a new one on your behalf."

"Thanks," Sonny says. "I…" He looks up and meets her eyes. "I'm sure the squad will rip him to shreds too, and I'm glad. I don't know that I can manage, honestly. I'm just so fucking relieved."

"Of course you are." She squeezes his shoulder briefly. "And we're gonna get him out, okay? Branowicz and Franklin know what they're doing. He's as safe as he can be, spare a black eye or two."

"Yeah," Sonny says. "Okay."

Leslie gives him a smile and leaves her office. Sonny hears her say something to someone in the hallway, and then he leans forward and presses Mike's shirt to his face, letting his tears soak into the fabric until it's absolutely drenched against his skin. 

_So fucking help me, Mike_ , Sonny thinks, _I really don't think I can yell at you. I just want you home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Mike will make it back in one piece. I'm not an asshole.


	6. Chapter 6

Leslie comes back into the office with a cold bottle of water, a damp paper towel, and two oversized books that Sonny assumes are town records.

He wipes his face with the towel, then takes a long drink of water. "Thank you," he says as she sits behind her desk. "I really appreciate the extra support you're offering me right now."

Leslie smiles and leans on her desk. "I've been playing archivist here for a year just to set the stage for everything that's happening now. I'm glad shit is finally moving forward. I'm ready to be out of here and get my name back."

"Can I ask?" Sonny asks.

"Leslie Yi," she says. "Korean on my mother's side."

"Sonny Carisi," Sonny replies. "Italian on all sides."

Leslie chuckles. "Nice." She hands him one of the books, and Sonny takes it. "We need to burn some time. Just in case anyone comes looking for you, though it's a slim chance they will."

"Was there ever an Asa Lambert here?" Sonny asks as he opens the book.

"There were six at one point," Leslie says. "The first thing I looked up when I got the job here was the most common family names and first names. People coming into town to look up family records is an easy excuse to see me and share information."

"Smart," Sonny says.

"I know the NYPD doesn't love the feds, but some of us are clever."

Sonny grins wryly. "Well, I didn't say it," he replies.

Leslie snorts. "We're going to flip through these books like we care about which Asa you're related to. Then, when I signal, you're going to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall. There's a storage closet in there. At the back of it, there's an attic access. Climb up, walk across the length of the building, and you'll see another attic access. It'll put you into a different storage closet right next to the back door. Stay in that closet until I come over to open it. Everyone here takes lunch at eleven, except me, because I cover the front desk while they're gone. I'll open the door a couple minutes after eleven and tell you where to go."

"What if something happens?"

Leslie shrugs. "Odds are pretty slim anything will. No one from Morris's part of town even knows my name. But, on the off chance something does, get yourself away from the back exit in whatever way feels right and play dumb as rocks."

"Okay," Sonny says, feeling at ease that there's a plan, even if the backup plan is to take his best guess. He's done that before. He can do it again.

"One thing I need to know for sure," Leslie says, her gaze heavily serious, "Did Dodds get you the information?"

"I've got a flash drive in my underwear that's probably everything you need," Sonny replies.

Leslie stares, then blinks. "Your underwear?"

"I didn't want to risk anyone seeing it when I left."

She sighs. "Okay, you know what, I'm gonna need you to go the bathroom right now just so I don't have to think about you sitting on my evidence for the next hour. I'm sure you can make it to the bathroom and back here without anyone paying you any attention."

Sonny nods and stands. Leslie opens the door to her office and points down the hall to the restroom. Sonny is glad to see it's a single toilet and sink. He retrieves the flash drive, cleans the casing with the hand sanitizer provided by the sink, and carries it back to Leslie's office tucked into the palm of his hand.

She shakes her head as she takes it from him but doesn't say anything else. They flip through the books together, commenting on particularly odd names. Sonny weaves the story of his mother getting into genealogy because she retired and needed a hobby, and Leslie gives him an amused look the more he tacks onto it. 

By the time they're nearing the hour mark, Sonny's added a third cousin who was a German soldier in World War 1 and a great-aunt who was the result of an illegitimate birth on his father's side of the family. 

Leslie taps her wrist to signal it's time to start his escape. 

"Pardon me," he says as he stands. "I need to use the restroom again."

"Well, you know where to find it," Leslie replies.

Sonny walks back to the restroom, locking the door behind him. He opens the closet and steps inside, shutting the door behind him. He uses the flashlight on his phone to navigate around the two mops, two brooms, and the bucket close to the door. Sonny pulls down the attic access slowly, hyper-aware of every small sound. It doesn't creak, thankfully, and he muffles the quiet clacking of the ladder as it unfolds.

He climbs up, then reaches down, heaving the ladder upwards and having to stretch his free hand out to get it folded correctly as he pulls it up flush to the floor. 

There's light filtering in through a few different air vents, and Sonny doesn't need his phone to help him see. He steps as lightly as he can, trying not to touch the roof insulation for fear of itching. He spots the attic access for the other storage closet and takes a moment to breathe deeply before carefully pushing down on the ladder. He crosses himself as the ladder clacks together, praying no one hears anything.

Sonny counts to twenty, straining to hear any sound that could be someone checking the closet. Nothing happens, so he slowly climbs down the ladder. He looks around as he steps onto the floor. This storage closet has more in it than the other one. There's a cluster of Christmas decorations to his right, and after Sonny folds the ladder back into place, he ducks behind them.

He stares at the dusty tinsel wrapped around a large, light-up candle and thinks about the single Christmas he and Mike had together. They weren't dating then, just colleagues becoming friends. But they'd exchanged gifts because the squad always did. Mike had gotten Sonny a book about the history of olive oil. Sonny had gotten Mike a T-shirt that read "World's Okayest Boxer." The way Mike had beamed and laughed when he held up the shirt had been the moment Sonny had realized he had a bit of a crush. 

Sonny had taken a chance a few days later and asked Mike out for New Year's. 

"You know, they say whoever you kiss at midnight, you're gonna be with them the rest of the year," Mike had replied, nervousness in his eyes. But his smile had been bright like when he'd seen the T-shirt.

"I've always liked the idea of that," Sonny had replied. 

"Yeah, me too."

They'd kissed at New Year's. Mike had been pronounced dead less than eight months later.

The closet door opens, pulling Sonny out of his memories. 

"It's me," Leslie says. Sonny stands. Leslie points over her shoulder. "Out the back door. There's a navy blue sedan with tinted windows with the keys in it. Head back to the city. Franklin will meet you in Chief Dodds's office for a debrief."

"What about the other car?" Sonny asks as he steps towards the front of the closet.

"We'll leave it here as a decoy. I've got other agents keeping an eye on things out front to see if any of Morris's people come looking for you."

"I'm expected back for dinner," Sonny says.

"Hopefully, they won't come looking until then. I can't say a lot, but I can tell you that Mike gave them enough information to keep them busy for awhile. You should be able to get back to the city without a problem."

Sonny desperately wants to ask what Mike said and if he's okay, but he doesn't. He follows Leslie to the back door of the building and lets her glance out the door while he stays to one side.

"You're good," Leslie says. She steps back and holds up her hand. She's holding Mike's shirt. "I don't think you want to leave this behind."

"No," Sonny agrees, taking the shirt. He folds it over twice and tucks it under his arm. "Thanks."

"I don't know how soon you'll see him again, but it'll probably be sooner rather than later," Leslie says. "Hopefully, no more than a few days."

"Yeah?"

"That's the intel I have right now. Franklin will likely have an update once you're back in the city."

"Okay." Sonny takes a deep breath to steady himself. "Thanks for saving my ass," he says.

"It's what I do," Leslie replies. "I'll call Franklin once you're on your way so she knows when to expect you. You concentrate on getting out of here."

"I will," Sonny promises. He gives her a quick, tight smile, then steps outside. 

The car is parked mid-way down the small parking lot. Sonny opens the door and slides inside, placing Mike's shirt on the seat next to him. He turns the key to start the engine and does a quick check of his surroundings. There's no one else in the lot, and it backs up to an overgrown lot behind it. 

He puts the car in reverse and backs out, keeping his breathing steady as he pulls around the building and turns away from Jackson. He'll be on this road for ten minutes, then they'll be an intersection where he can turn on the highway. He knows if he can make it to the highway without incident, he's likely free and clear. 

It's a long ten minutes. Sonny keeps checking his mirrors, looking for a tail, but there's no one behind him even when he pulls up to the red light at the intersection. He turns towards the highway and merges. There's only a few cars on the highway this far upstate, and Sonny matches their speed before letting out an explosive breath. There's no one behind him. He's not being followed.

He doesn't fully relax until he's twenty miles down the road. He doesn't turn on the radio for another five. It's a straight shot to the city. He finds a top-forty station and cranks the volume to drown out the list of repeating questions about Mike that are running through his head. 

_Sooner rather than later_ , Leslie had said, and Sonny tries to turn that into a mantra as he keeps driving home.

*

He reaches the city just before three. Traffic's about as average as it gets, and he turns down the radio as he maneuvers into the heart of Manhattan. He pulls into the underground garage at One PP and parks in the first spot he can find. 

Chief Dodds's assistant gives him a polite smile when he walks into the outer office. Sonny goes to reach for his badge, then remembers he's not wearing it. It takes him an extra second to announce himself. "Detective Carisi for Chief Dodds, please."

"Go right in," the assistant says. "He's been expecting you."

Sonny pauses before opening the door. A thought hits him, one he knows has been sneaking up from the back of his mind this whole time. He takes a deep breath and steps into the office.

Agent Franklin and Chief Dodds are sitting at the small conference table by the window. They both stand when he walks in. Before Agent Franklin can say anything, Chief Dodds is across the room, shaking Sonny's hand and clapping him on the shoulder. 

"You don't look too bad," he says. He's taking in every inch of Sonny's frame. His eyes catch for a moment at the shirt in Sonny's left hand. 

"I'm okay," Sonny replies. He looks at Agent Franklin. "Agent Yi is phenomenal," he says. 

Agent Franklin gives him a small smile. "She is," she agrees. She gestures to the conference table. "Shall we?"

Sonny looks back at Chief Dodds, then at Agent Franklin. "Shouldn't we be doing this in your office?"

"The Chief wants to speak to you after you and I are finished," Agent Franklin says as she sits again. "And we had to provide him some details when we came to pull you into this, so I've been keeping him updated on your status."

"I see," Sonny says, giving Chief Dodds a long look as they both sit at the table. "I don't really have anything to say that wasn't in my reports," he says. "All I have to add is what happened this morning."

Agent Franklin takes a digital recorder out of her jacket pocket and places it on the table. "Let me get that, and then I have a few things I want to go over."

"Okay." At Franklin's nod, Sonny reports on the morning. He leaves omits any information about the wastebasket. He hasn't mentioned it in his other reports, and he's not going to start now. He knows it was stupid and dangerous, but Mike started it, and Sonny won't get him in trouble. 

"So, the last thing you know for certain was that Mike Dodds was speaking with Morris Cathers as you left the premises?" Agent Franklin says when Sonny finishes his report.

"That's correct," Sonny says.

"You didn't see either of them exit the premises?"

"I wasn't looking," Sonny replies. "I was in the guest house trying to appear inconspicuous."

"Understood," Franklin says with a wry grin. "And the last you saw of Charlotte, it appeared she was going to enter the guest house to see if you were possibly trying to make a break for it."

"Correct," Sonny says.

Franklin nods. "Okay. Thank you, Detective." She turns off the digital recorder and slides it back into her pocket. She folds her hands on the table, and her expression changes from a professional politeness to a more personal kindness. "I heard from Agent Yi while you were on the road. The information on the flash drive is exactly what we needed."

"What's on that drive?" Sonny asks. 

"Proof that Morris and his group are committing human trafficking, and proof that they're radicalizing."

Sonny thinks of the skeleton of the library he saw the other day. "Literature?" he asks.

"Yes. Mike Dodds was able to get us several digital copies of some of Morris's current in-process work. It's a big departure from his previous stuff. It encourages domestic terrorism as a way to take the country back."

"He actually uses that phrase?"

"He uses it to redefine it," Agent Franklin says. "He says it's not domestic terrorism, it's correcting the fatherland."

Sonny closes his eyes tight. "Christ," he mutters. His mouth feels dry as he asks the next question, but he needs to know now more than ever. "What about Mike?"

"We've got eyes on him. He'll be out in the next twenty-four hours."

"You're not worried that'll set off Morris's paranoia?"

"No," Agent Franklin replies. "I can't go into details, but I can say Mike's made certain to cover his tracks very well."

Sonny clenches his hands into fists. "Okay," he says slowly, making himself stay calm, reminding himself that this is how it works when dealing with undercover. Just because he wants to know--desperately _needs_ to know--doesn't mean he gets to. "So, what? I can go home?"

"Yes," Franklin says as she stands. "I'll let you and Chief Dodds work out when you're going back to work."

"Thank you, Agent," Chief Dodds says before Sonny can say anything else. He stays seated while Chief Dodds sees Agent Franklin to the door. When Chief Dodds turns back to him, there's a depth of concern on his face that Sonny's never seen before. "I think you know why I wanted you to stay for a minute," he says.

Sonny nods. "You want to know how Mike is doing."

"I know you didn't get a chance to really talk with him, but anything you could tell me would be good to hear."

Sonny watches Chief Dodds sit down again. He looks at his hands, not at Sonny. Sonny stays silent until the Chief looks up. "I need you to answer a question for me," Sonny says.

"It's the least I can do," Chief Dodds replies, sitting up a little straighter. 

The question that's been scratching at the back of Sonny's mind comes out of his mouth sharp and accusing. "Have you known this whole time that Mike was alive?"

Chief Dodds doesn't lower his eyes. "Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

Sonny briefly considers if he could get away with punching Chief Dodds in the jaw. He clenches his hands, then stretches them out. Chief Dodds keeps watching him, meeting his gaze without flinching. 

"What the fuck," Sonny finally manages to say. 

Chief Dodds breathes out hard and stands up. "Drink?" he offers as he turns his back.

Sonny runs his hands through his hair, then combs his fingers through his beard. "What the fuck?" he repeats.

Chief Doods carries two glasses and a decanter over to the table. They're all cut glass, no doubt crystal. The decanter is mostly full of what looks like whiskey. "It's bourbon, not scotch."

Sonny watches him pour them each a double. He stares into the glass when Chief Dodds slides it over to him. He looks up when Chief Dodds sits, ready to demand answers. His demand catches in his throat at the sight of the man. His eyes are closed. He's slouching in his chair. He looks exhausted. 

"You've known this whole time," Sonny says quietly.

"I have," Chief Dodds answers.

Sonny curls his hands around his glass and breathes in the bourbon fumes. "You knew when the ATF came asking after me."

"I did."

"Did Mike really request me, or did you set that up?"

"That was all Mike," Chief Dodds says. He takes a sip of his bourbon and opens his eyes. "I would have suggested you myself, honestly. You fit the bill for the character they created, and you are one of our most effective undercover officers."

Sonny quirks his brows. "I don't need compliments right now."

"I'm just telling the truth," Chief Dodds says. He taps his finger against the rim of his glass. "I was telling the truth when I called you before you went under, too. I think you and Mike made an excellent couple."

Sonny thinks about that for a long moment. He takes a sip of his bourbon. It's sweeter than he expected. "Then why did you tell him he was slumming it?"

"I didn't." Chief Dodds loosens his tie and leans forward, elbows on the table. "He came here to tell me about the two of you dating. Before he could say anything, I'd told him about the assignment with the ATF. I told him it'd be perfect for him for the next stepping stone in his career."

Sonny throws his head back, his laugh dry and brittle but honest. "Of fucking course."

"He didn't do it because of that," Chief Dodds says. 

"I know he didn't," Sonny replies, looking at Chief Dodds again. Chief Dodds looks surprised. "Mike wanted to stay with SVU. He said he finally felt like he was with a squad who understood him as a person, not just as the Chief's kid."

"Yeah, he told me," Chief Dodds says. He looks stricken for a moment, and Sonny wonders if he realizes he's showing his feelings. "I should have respected his wishes, but…" He heaves a sigh that Sonny feels in his bones. "But I didn't. I pressured him into taking the assignment. I wasn't ready to believe that he really didn't want what I wanted for him. I thought he was...acting out because he got shot. I shouldn't…" Chief Dodds stares into the middle distance, clearly lost for words.

Sonny takes a sip of his drink to gather his thoughts. "He told you he liked it with SVU. He said he sort of felt you out on the whole thing when you met him at PT. But he also said he didn't flat out state his preference to you."

Chief Dodd's gives Sonny a look that's a mix between anger and sadness. "Don't rewrite history for my benefit. I know I pressured him about joining joint terrorism after that."

"Yeah, you did. He told me all about it. We talked about it. When he decided to tell you that he and I were together, he'd also decided he was going to tell you that he'd rather pass on Joint Terrorism and just stay with the squad. He'd rather switch to a seven- or ten-year plan than leave a place where he felt so useful."

Chief Dodds shakes his head. "No, that can't be right. He wouldn't have agreed to this undercover gig if he'd felt that way."

Sonny shrugs. "He didn't do it for the stepping stone angle, and he didn't do it for you. He did it because you explained it to him. You told him this group was on the verge of radicalizing to violence, and someone needed to go in and find information. Of course he went. I'd have gone."

Chief Dodds gives him a sharp look. "Really? You'd fake your own death?"

"These people are trying to bring a massive call to violence to a section of the population that needs the barest excuse to open fire. If you'd come to me and said I'd have to fake dead to pull it off, I'd do it in a heartbeat, and I _don't_ have the day-to-day history with extremists that Mike got in Afghanistan."

"Why would you do it, then?"

"Because someone has to," Sonny replies.

Chief Dodds stares at him. "That's what you've got? Because someone has to?"

Sonny chuckles. "I know what it sounds like, all right? I know what people say about me. But it's the simplest answer I have. I'm a cop, and I do undercover because someone has to. Because protect and serve mean real things to me."

Chief Dodds shakes his head. He tips his glass and watches the way the scotch shifts. "After I told him about the ATF needing help, he told me you were dating. I thought he was going to turn down the job because of your relationship, but then he said that you'd understand." Chief Dodds meets Sonny's eyes again. "I thought he was kidding himself, but I was getting what I wanted, so I didn't disagree. But now, I see what he meant. You really will forgive him for this."

"I will," Sonny says. "I already mostly have. Maybe it's because I've done undercover, too, but I get why he made the decisions he did. It's better for one of us to go in than to try and turn someone from the inside. It's safer if it works, and if the UC isn't taken in by the group, it's usually easy to get them out again and try later."

"I'm sorry I had to be cruel to you," Chief Dodds says. "I didn't want to be, but Mike said you'd try and help me through my grief if I showed any kindness. So...I didn't show any kindness."

"I forgave you when you called me before I went under," Sonny replies. "You seemed sincere."

"I was, but it was still a lie."

"It was as close as you could get to the truth."

Chief Dodds snorts and takes a large drink. He wipes the back of his hand against his mouth and stares at the table. "There were ways to push you away that weren't as bad. It was my idea to have Mike tell you I said he was slumming it so that you'd stay away."

Sonny can't help his laugh. "Well, it worked."

"That doesn't make it right," Chief Dodds says. "I should have found some way to support you through this."

Sonny doesn't answer right away. He takes a long sip of his bourbon and considers everything the Chief has told him. "I wish you could have told me, too," he says. "But I'm not angry you didn't, and I can't pretend to be angry."

"How can you _possibly_ not be angry?" Chief Dodds hisses.

"Because he's alive," Sonny answers. "Because every lie you told kept him safe, and every lie he told was done so to hopefully keep other people safe, and it looks like it all worked out the way that will keep people safe."

"You thought he was dead."

"But he's not," Sonny says. He doesn't try to blink away his tears. He's had to hide them since the first time he saw Mike, and now he's finally safe enough to let them fall. "We walk by faith, not by sight. We are of good courage."

Chief Dodds squints at him. "What's that from?"

"First Corinthians," Sonny replies. "Abridged, but the general sentiment is there. When I came out to my priest when I was fourteen, he quoted it to me to remind me to trust in God, and to trust in myself. He said that trusting God is a lot harder when you don't trust yourself. He said it's okay to question God's will if we do it with courage and honesty. It's okay to question and make our own decisions, and it's more than okay to be happy with ourselves because it's courageous to be happy with yourself, and God wants that most of all."

Chief Dodds doesn't say anything for a long moment. "I'm going over to SVU tomorrow to tell them you're out from undercover, and to tell them about Mike," he says in a normal speaking tone. "I think you should take the next week off."

"I don't need to," Sonny replies. "A good night's sleep and a shave, and I'll be good to go."

"Take the week off," Chief Dodds says, giving Sonny a stern look. "You and Mike have a lot to talk about, and you've got plenty to process on your own without the rest of your team hounding you with questions."

Sonny considers that. It's a fair assessment, and he's also certain it's a way for Chief Dodds to apologize again. He doesn't need another apology, but maybe Chief Dodds does. And Sonny absolutely wants time with Mike when he gets back. "Okay," he agrees. "I'll take the week off. Maybe you and Mike can come over to my place for dinner one night."

"I suppose we should get to know each other if you're going to give Mike a second chance," the Chief replies. 

Sonny holds up his glass. "We are of good courage," he says. 

Chief Dodds gives him a small smile and taps his glass to Sonny's. A crystalline _ting_ rings out. "Thank you," he says. 

Sonny smiles in return and finishes his drink. "Mike looked good," he says when he sets down his glass. "He looked healthy. We didn't get to talk a lot, but when we did, he sounded all right. Given everything he's had to pretend to be, he seemed a lot like himself."

"He'll need time to decompress and get out of that headspace," Chief Dodds says, "but he's a fighter. He'll work through it."

"Yeah," Sonny agrees. "He will."

"And if he struggles, he has us," the Chief says. 

"Yeah," Sonny agrees. "He does." He stands and tucks Mike's shirt under his arm, then offers Chief Dodds his hand. "I'm going to go home, shower, and sleep for the next twelve hours."

"I'll call if anything comes up," Chief Dodds says. He shakes Sonny's hand, then pauses with his other hand hovering on Sonny's shoulder. "Thank you," he says again. 

Sonny pulls him into a hug rather than answer. The way Chief Dodds holds tight for a few seconds tells him it's exactly what they both needed. "I'll see you soon," Sonny says as he pulls away.

"Be safe," Chief Dodds says as he opens the door and shakes his hand one more time. "How are you getting home?"

"Subway," Sonny says. "I assume the car needs to go back to the ATF."

"It does. I'll arrange it."

"Thanks."

Sonny walks out of Chief Dodds's office and says a quiet goodbye to his assistant. He takes the elevator to the lobby, then walks outside and presses his back against the wall of One PP, looking up at the Manhattan skyline and breathing in the city air while taking in the city noise. He feels safe, finally, enveloped in the city, and he walks to the subway feeling lighter than he had when he'd arrived.

The subway's just starting to get really crowded with the early evening rush, and Sonny stands and sways as the train starts and stops. He gets off at his stop and takes the stairs up from the station slowly, setting himself back into his own head as he goes. 

He is Sonny Carisi, son of Dominick and Tessa Carisi. Brother of Gina and Teresa and Bella. Uncle to Mia and Izzy. Godfather to Jesse Rollins. Best friend of Amanda Rollins. Detective of Manhattan SVU. He is Catholic and will go to Mass on Sunday. He will give thanks to the Lord for another week lived and add an extra thanks for Mike being safe. 

Sonny opens his apartment door and steps inside. His actual cell phone is sitting on the counter, plugged in and waiting for him to scroll through his messages. He does a quick check to see if anything needs his attention. It doesn't. He texts his parents to let them know he's home safe. 

He briefly considers texting the squad, but he takes a deep breath and decides to let Chief Dodds handle it in the morning. He's physically tired and emotionally depleted, and it'll be easier to answer questions once he's slept and had some good food and feels like Sonny Carisi all the way through.

He calls out for delivery, then showers, deciding to wait until morning to shave. He puts on pajama pants and an old tank top, then slips Mike's shirt on over that. He buttons it and rolls up the cuffs. He thinks about Mike coming back, about who they might get to be to each other now, about all the other things Mike might leave here when he comes over to stay. 

The delivery guy is punctual, and Sonny tips him extra, then sits on the couch and eats while watching ESPN and drinking a beer. He drowses on the couch, comfortable and warm and full of food. Sometime around ten he gets up and brushes his teeth. He briefly considers stripping down to sleep, but he sits on his bed before he decides, and he's so happy to be home he simply tips himself to one side and pulls the covers up around him. 

He wakes up in the morning because his cell is pinging repeatedly. He rubs his eyes as he grabs his phone. It's Amanda. 

**Amanda** : Dodds is here and says you're safe! 

**Amanda:** : (Yay!)

**Amanda** : AND MIKE'S ALIVE???!!!! 

**Amanda** : AND HE'S KNOWN THIS WHOLE TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Amanda:** AND HE DIDN'T FUCKING TELL YOU BEFORE YOU WENT UNDER THAT YOU'D SEE HIM HOLY SHIT I'M KICKING HIS ASS.

**Amanda** : I'M KICKING HIS ASS UP ONE SIDE OF BROADWAY AND DOWN THE OTHER. SHOW THE TOURISTS A REAL FUCKING SHOW STARRING MY RIGHT BOOT.

**Amanda** : SO GLAD YOU'RE BACK SAFE SEE YOU IN A WEEK LOVE YOU AND WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK JUST HAPPENED

Sonny grins at the string of messages.

**Sonny** : He and I have already talked. Please don't beat him up on my account. It's complicated, but it's good.

He's not surprised Amanda's response pings back almost instantly.

**Amanda** : GODDAMNIT DON'T BE NICE ABOUT THIS. 

**Amanda** : Pffft. Look who I'm talking to. Of course you're gonna be nice about this.

**Amanda** : And I respect that. I get it. 

**Amanda** : And, like, I'm still processing this whole thing, and you're probably processing EVEN MORE SHIT THAN I AM.

**Amanda** : FUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK

**Amanda** : Fin's taking my phone away

**Amanda** : Honestly, that's fair. Text me if you need me or whatever. I'm allowed to answer if you text, but Fin pointed out that maybe you don't need me screaming at you.

**Amanda** : Which is also fair.

She ends with a string of emojis, and Sonny sends his own string back. 

He sits up and stretches, then steps out of bed. He walks into the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot, and there's a knock at the door. His phone pings as he undoes the locks, but he slides it into his pocket as he opens the door. 

It's Mike. 

Sonny opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He just stares for a moment, taking him in. He has a massive black eye, and he's favoring his left side. There's a duffel bag over his right shoulder. Two of the fingers on his right hand are in a splint, and there's a cut just above his eyebrow that's closed with butterfly bandages. He's clean-shaven and looks exhausted, but his eyes are bright and focused, and he's staring at Sonny like he's the answer to everything. 

"Hi," Mike says. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Sonny shakes his head and grabs Mike by the front of the shirt. He pulls him in close and takes a deep breath. He smells like Irish Spring soap and his sandalwood aftershave. Sonny presses a hand lightly to Mike's left side. "Ribs?" he asks.

"Cracked two," Mike replies. He drops the duffel onto the ground, then slides his non-splinted hand up Sonny's chest. He cups the back of Sonny's neck. "Can I tell you about it in a minute?"

"Sure," Sonny says. 

He takes a step back, then another. Mike pushes the door closed with his foot, and then he's leaning down, and Sonny is angling up, and they're kissing. Soft, warm kisses that make Sonny tear up and start to cry. In happiness. In grief. He doesn't know, but he doesn't break away. He feels tears smear on his hand when he reaches up to cup Mike's cheek, and somehow that makes it perfect. The two of them right here, kissing and crying and touching.

When they break apart finally, they're both sniffling, and Sonny lets out a wet chuckle as he scrubs a hand over his eyes. "Fuck," he says. 

"Yeah," Mike agrees. He touches Sonny's beard, then his mouth, smiling when Sonny kisses his fingertips. "I would have been here sooner, but I had to get bandaged up and give my report, and then the pain meds knocked me out for a couple of hours. But I got here as soon as I could."

"I know you did," Sonny replies. He sits next to Mike and touches his knee just to touch him at all. "Are you okay?"

Mike shakes his head. "I don't know. Yes? No? I just...Sonny, I'm so fucking sorry."

"Quiet," Sonny says, pulling Mike towards him until they're both laying on the couch. He grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over them both. "You need to sleep."

"I need--" Mike's cut off by a massive yawn. When it's finished he gives Sonny a sheepish look, then lays his head on Sonny's shoulder. "I need to sleep."

"There you go," Sonny says, and Mike's half-asleep chuckle makes him want to yell with happiness. He presses a kiss to the top of Mike's head and strokes his hand up and down his arm. He means to just lay there until Mike's in a deep enough sleep that he can slide away and let him get all the rest he needs, but he's suddenly tired himself, and it sounds so nice to just close his eyes and hold Mike, so he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's safe! And after they both get some much-needed rest, there will be MANY conversations.


	8. Chapter 8

Sonny wakes up an hour later and discovers Mike's already awake, head still on Sonny's shoulder and staring sleepily out at the living room. "Hey, go back to sleep."

"Don't think I can," Mike says. "My sleep schedule's been a mess the last couple of weeks."

Sonny runs his fingers through Mike's hair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not right now," Mike says. He tries to sit up, then freezes with a loud groan. "Shit."

"Easy," Sonny says, fighting the urge to jerk upright and instead sitting up slowly so he doesn't jostle the couch. "Ribs?"

"And my hand," Mike says with a sigh. He lets Sonny help him sit up the rest of the way. "There are pills in my duffel."

"Okay. You need to eat with them?"

"Probably, and even if I said no, it wouldn't stop you."

Sonny grins and drops a kiss to the top of Mike's head. "I can scramble eggs in ten minutes. And the coffee just needs reheating."

"I'm at your mercy," Mike says. 

Sonny pauses, then touches his fingers to Mike's chin. Mike lifts his head so he's looking Sonny in the eyes. "What happened after I left?" he asks. 

Mike sighs, then grimaces, hand going to press lightly at his ribs. "Can I tell you after the pills kick in? It's a little hard to think right now."

"Yeah, of course," Sonny says. He turns away but stops short when Mike grabs his hand. When Sonny looks at Mike again, Mike's eyes are watery with tears, and his jaw is clenched. "Hey," Sonny says, touching Mike's cheek. "What is it?"

"You shouldn't have even let me in the door," Mike says. "You should have slammed it in my face and told me to fuck myself."

Sonny can't speak for a moment. "No," he says slowly, shaking his head, "Not ever."

"Sonny--"

"Hush," Sonny says quietly. "I'm gonna get your pills, and then I'll make us breakfast, and then we'll talk, okay? You can tell me what you need to tell me, and I'll tell you what I need to tell you."

Mike blinks, and the tears fall down his cheeks. "I'm so fucking sorry," he says.

"I know," Sonny replies. "And we'll talk through it, okay?"

"Okay," Mike agrees.

Sonny keeps contact with Mike for another moment before slowly pulling away. He opens Mike's duffel and finds the pills tucked in-between two pairs of socks. He reads the instructions on the bottle and drops two pills into his hand before getting a glass of water and taking the pills and water back to Mike. 

Mike's staring at him. "That's my shirt," he says as he takes the pills and water from Sonny. 

"Yeah, I packed it by accident when I went to Jackson," Sonny says. "It was the only thing I took when I left. Besides the evidence, of course."

"When Charlotte saw you headed for your car--"

"After breakfast," Sonny says. 

Mike gives him a small, rueful smile. "Right," he says.

"Do you want to shower while I cook?" Sonny asks.

"No. The ER where I got patched up let me use the locker room to shave and shower after they checked me out, and it's a pain to shower with my hand, anyway."

"Okay. Feel free to flip channels or put on some music." Sonny opens the fridge to get the eggs and butter. There's a package of shredded cheese in the crisper drawer but not much else in the way of food. He'd cleaned everything out before he'd gone under, not wanting to come home to a pile of rotten food. There is, at least, a loaf of bread in the freezer, so he's able to make toast while he scrambles the cheese and eggs and clicks on the coffee maker to reheat the coffee. In the cupboard above the stove, he has powdered creamer for when his parents visit. He puts a spoonful into two coffee mugs, then butters the toast before plating the eggs. Mike's made his way to the kitchen counter while Sonny's cooked, and he sits gingerly on one of the bar stools.

"You know you can eat on the couch," Sonny says. 

"I know, but I found your phone in the cushions, so I was coming over here anyway," Mike replies, holding up Sonny's phone. 

Sonny doesn't point out that Mike could have just _said_ he'd found the phone and stayed on the couch. They'll have a conversation about how hard Mike should be pushing himself after they have the conversations they both need to clear the air. "Thanks," Sonny says and slides a plate towards Mike before reaching into a drawer for forks. 

"I've missed your coffee," Mike says as he breathes in the scent coming from the mugs. "I'd get up every day and have to make off-brand Folgers, and I always thought about your coffee."

"Mine's nothing fancy," Sonny says. "You've seen me buy it."

"It's different, though," Mike replies. He eats a bite of his eggs, then takes a drink of his coffee. "I know it's not fancy, but it's different. I kept thinking I'd get used to off-brand Folgers, but I never did. Every time I took that first sip, I missed your coffee or the station coffee, or the coffees you'd bring everyone from that cart you like."

Sonny chews slowly on a bite of toast. "I missed your soap," he says. 

"It's nothing fancy," Mike replies, giving him a small smile.

"I went out and bought a of bar of Irish Spring two days after your funeral," Sonny says. "I never even unwrapped it. I just smelled it through the paper sometimes."

Mike drops his head and closes his eyes. "Sonny--"

"Finish your breakfast," Sonny says.

Mike gives Sonny a quick smirk. "Yes, dear," he says, heavy with sarcasm.

"Attaboy," Sonny replies, and he's grateful when Mike gives him a real smile. 

They finish their breakfasts, and Sonny puts the dishes in the sink. He pours them each another cup of coffee and carries them both to the couch. He lets Mike gets settled first, then hands him his cup as he settles on the other end. 

"You had messages on your phone," Mike says as he looks into his coffee mug. 

"If it was worth interrupting us talking, they'd call," Sonny says. He takes a drink of his coffee and watches Mike look around. "What is it?"

"I'm just realizing I'm really here," Mike says, turning his gaze to Sonny. "I spent a lot of time thinking about being here. Being with you. I didn't know if it would happen again, but I felt safe thinking about it."

Sonny lets Mike look around for a few more seconds rather than try to convince him he'd had nothing to worry about. He can go back to that later. Right now, they need to talk about all the things whispering around the room. "I know the shooting was real."

"It was," Mike says. He glances down at his abdomen. "That wasn't part of the plan."

"What was the original plan?"

Mike grimaces. "Transfer to Joint Terrorism and disappear." He glances at Sonny, then down at his coffee. "I should have told--"

"No," Sonny says. "No 'should haves' that you could never have made happen."

Mike tips his head back and takes a slow, deep breath, obviously careful of his ribs. "Okay," he says quietly. "Okay."

"There are things we need to talk about," Sonny says, "but I know the UC rules, too. You don't have to explain why you didn't tell me."

"The stroke was a last-minute save," Mike says, still not looking at Sonny. "Franklin and Branowicz figured out how to spin my getting shot for Cathers, but we needed to get me out ASAP to get things moving."

"So, your dad's the only one in the room when you have a stroke and comes out and tells the rest of us you died," Sonny says.

"Yeah," Mike says. "Once Dad gave...you...the bad news, Franklin and Branowicz got me moved as soon as the doctors gave the okay."

"What was the story you came up with to sell Cathers?"

"Shot during a carjacking," Mike says, grimacing and shaking his head. "The ATF fabricated some web searches and history to make it look like I'd been lurking on the Untouched Purity boards for a few months before I was shot. They'd always planned to have me move to Jackson and try to ingratiate myself casually. The gunshot wound actually helped things along."

Sonny shifts so he can drape an arm along the back of couch in invitation. "They assumed the carjacker wasn't white."

"Yeah," Mike replies. He lays one of his hands over Sonny's outstretched one. "All I had to do after that was play along. I knew Franklin and Branowicz had the character they only planned to use on the messageboards, but then Kevin decided that character needed to be invited in for a visit to properly vet him."

"And you named me."

"Not intentionally." Mike squeezes Sonny's hand and sighs deeply. Sonny makes a mental note that the pain pills have kicked in. "Franklin gave me a rundown of the character, and you were the first person I thought of. I tried to think of anyone else I could trust to play the character right, but there wasn't anyone else."

"You didn't tell them how you knew me," Sonny says.

Mike looks abashed and takes a long drink of coffee. "No," he says once he's stopped stalling. "If I'd explained, they'd have refused to send you, and I was afraid they'd send someone I'd have to convince to trust me."

"I wanted to slug you with my beer bottle the first time I saw you there," Sonny says because it's true and also because it seems like something Mike needs to hear. 

Mike chuckles. It doesn't sound carefree, but it sounds honest. "I saw it on your face for just a second," he says. "And then it was gone, and I knew I'd put you in a really shitty position, but I also knew I'd done the right thing by asking for you."

Sonny runs his thumb over Mike's knuckles. "How'd you get out of there?"

"The kid I helped get out, I sent him to Franklin and Branowicz. They had him file a police report with the county, saying I forced him into a sexual relationship in order to get his freedom."

Sonny blinks, stunned. "Wow."

"We needed something big enough that Morris would flip out and kick me to the curb. I figured there was a pretty good chance he'd try to kick my ass, but I also knew I could defend myself."

"How many guys did he sic on you?" Sonny asks.

"Three," Mike says. "He pretended like he wanted me to talk to Bart and Larry about things, then brought Kevin in as well."

"You knew they were going to beat you up. Why the hell did you agree to the meeting?"

"I needed to buy enough time to make sure you were clear of everything," Mike says.

Sonny sucks in a sharp breath. "Mike--"

"I don't regret it," Mike interrupts. 

Sonny can't speak for a moment. He swallows hard. "That's not the point. I can take care of myself, and you know it."

"It wasn't about you, personally," Mike says, then grimaces. "Okay, it was a little about you, personally, but I also needed to be sure that the information was safe. I needed to buy enough time to be reasonably certain you'd gotten the flash drive out."

Sonny shakes his head. "Mike."

"You would have done the same," Mike replies. "I was glad when I saw you leave so soon after you went back to the guest house. It cut down on how much time I needed to buy. I figured Franklin and Branowicz had figured out how to get you to Agent Yi. When Charlotte came back into the house and told Morris what you'd said you were doing and that you hadn't taken anything from the guest house, I knew you'd be okay. Morris had Charlotte call City Hall a half hour later and confirm you'd arrived and were still there. They stopped thinking about you after that, which is exactly what needed to happen."

Mike's right. Sonny knows that. But it doesn't make it easier to stomach. He looks at Mike's eye, the cut on his forehead, his splinted fingers. He thinks about the bruises that are probably on Mike's ribs and the scar from the gunshot wound he's never seen.

"They could have killed you," Sonny says, a fine tremor working its way through his body. "Jesus Christ, Mike, they could have beat you to death."

"But they didn't," Mike replies. "I'm right here."

"Goddamn you," Sonny hisses, anger rising up in him for the first time since seeing Mike alive. "I could have lost you _again_ , you asshole. I could have just found you and lost you _again_!"

"I know," Mike says quietly. "I know."

"No!" Sonny shouts. "You don't fucking know! I _lost_ you, Mike! I fucking lost you!"

"You think it was any easier on my end?!" Mike yells back, anger snapping through him so hard he sits up straight. "You think I had fun leaving you like that, and then having to pull you into that shit and then having to watch you leave again?! You think it was easy for me to put you in danger knowing what I'd already done to you?!"

"Well, you went and fucking did it!" 

"Who the fuck else could I trust, Sonny?! Huh?!"

Sonny opens his mouth to say something else, to yell something mean and unfair, but nothing comes out. He gasps for air, then he chokes, and then he's sobbing, messy and awful and loud. He cries so hard he has to curl into himself so he doesn't tip over. He feels the couch shift, feels Mike wrap his arms around him, and through his own sobs, he can hear Mike's. They're just as loud, just as heart-wrenching. 

"I'm so fucking sorry," Mike says between sobs, soaking his own shirt with his tears as he presses his face into Sonny's shoulder. "I'm so fucking sorry."

And Sonny finally realizes that yes, he _does_ need that apology and everything Mike means with it. He doesn't tell Mike it's okay, and he doesn't tell Mike to stop as he keeps repeating it over and over. He clutches Mike's shoulders, and he listens to Mike's voice, and he lets himself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to soundwithinsilence for the beta! You're awesome!


	9. Chapter 9

Sonny doesn't know how long they stay wrapped around each other and sobbing. By the time they both calm down, Sonny feels like he's cried all the moisture out of his body, and Mike's so exhausted he struggles to even pull away. 

"You need to lie down," Sonny says. "Come on."

Mike doesn't argue when Sonny stands and helps him up. He leans heavily on Sonny as they walk down the short hallway to Sonny's bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and lets Sonny strip him down to his shorts. 

"I'm sorry," Mike says, yawning hugely, as Sonny pulls Mike's wallet and keys and phone from his pockets and sets them on the nightstand.

"I know," Sonny says. He helps Mike lie down and takes the moment to inspect Mike's body. There's definite bruising on his ribs, and down on his abdomen, there's the gunshot scar Sonny's never seen. He touches it lightly, then skims his fingers up to the bruises. One of them shows the unmistakable tread of a work boot. "Who worked your ribs?"

"Kevin," Mike says. He yawns again. "Bart slammed my head on the table. Larry wanted to go hand-to-hand. I let him get the punch to my eye before I laid him out. Shouldn't have hit his jaw bare-handed, but it was pretty nice to watch him drop like a sack of rocks."

Sonny can't help his smile. "You could always spot a glass jaw," he says. 

"The cops showed up to fake my arrest before I could get Kevin or Bart back," Mike continues. "Branowicz met us at the hospital three towns over and said you were in the clear. I gave my report, called my dad, and he told me to see you first."

Sonny blinks away tears he didn't think he had. "He did?"

Mike's smile is sleepy and sweet. "Yeah," he says, his eyes closing slowly. "He said he could wait since he'd known I was okay this whole time."

Sonny leans down and presses his forehead against Mike's careful of the cut. "Your dad's not a complete asshole," he says.

Mike chuckles. "High praise."

"Take a nap," Sonny says, pressing a kiss between Mike's eyebrows. "I'm gonna take care of a few things, and we'll talk more after, okay?"

"Okay," Mike says. He touches Sonny's wrist before Sonny can stand up. "I love you," he says. 

"I love you," Sonny replies. He stays where he is until Mike falls asleep a few minutes later, then he stands quietly and leaves the room, closing the door halfway as he goes. 

His phone's on the coffee table, and he picks it up. He's got texts from his mom, Amanda, and the Lieu. 

**Mom** : Glad you're safe, baby boy! Call when you're rested!

**Amanda** : Jesse kept chanting 'Unca' and pointing at you in a picture this morning. 

Sonny grins at the attached video. Jesse's smiling widely at the camera and pointing at a photo of her and Sonny and Amanda that Amanda keeps on the coffee table. 'Unca! Unca! Unca!" She's shouting. Amanda laughs and praises her for recognizing him. Sonny sends back a smiley face before checking the texts from the Lieu.

**Lieutenant Benson** : I know Amanda made it clear that she's got you covered if you need some emotional support while you deal with the news about Mike.

**Lieutenant Benson** : We're all here for you, of course. 

**Lieutenant Benson** : Please don't think you need to rush back to work. The two detectives the Chief gave me are staying until further notice at the moment, so we've got coverage. 

**Lieutenant Benson** : And combined, they're about half as good as you, so they're doing pretty solid work.

Sonny reads the last message over a few times, grateful for the support the Lieu always knows how to give.

**Sonny** : Thanks, boss. I'll let you know how things go. Everything's kind of a mess right now. Be at least a couple of days before I think I'll really know what I want to do in terms of more time off or not.

He's not surprised the Lieu answers almost immediately.

**Lieutenant Benson** : You let me know, and we'll make it work. 

Sonny sends back a thank you. His phone pings again before he can set it down. It's another text, from a number not in his contacts. 

**212-555-9722** : Sonny, it's Chief Dodds. Or, William, I guess, since this is my personal number. Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing.

Sonny stares at the message for a long moment, wondering how to even start answering that question. Another message comes in as he's processing.

**212-555-9722** : Let me know if you need anything from me. I've got my guest room set up for Mike, but I understand if you'd rather him stay with you for a day or two. I'd appreciate if you'd have him tell me where he's staying when he's awake.

**Sonny** : Why are you assuming he's asleep?

It's not the question Sonny wants to ask, but it's the first one he can actually type out.

**212-555-9722** : He's useless on pain meds. Always has been. Don't let him convince you cutting the dosage helps. He'll still fall asleep in ten seconds flat once he gets tired, he'll just hurt more while he does it. He'll probably be in and out of it at weird times for the next few days. He's fine to leave on his own, just keep a blanket nearby.

Sonny shakes his head and laughs at the message. It's bizarre to see it, to see the Chief showing this side of himself, and to Sonny of all people. 

Sonny taps the number and adds it to his contacts as William Dodds. He looks at the entry for a moment, then taps the icon to call the number.

"This is Dodds," Chief Dodds answers. 

"Chief--William--" Sonny has to pause after saying his first name. It feels so weird. "It's Sonny."

"Sonny!" Chief Dodds's tone is different than how he answered. He sounds welcoming and maybe a little relieved. "I hope I wasn't bothering you with my messages."

"No," Sonny answers. "No, I really…" He can't find words for a minute. He listens to the background noise on the other end of the line. He's fairly certain the Chief is riding somewhere in a car. "Am I interrupting anything?" he asks.

"No, I'm in the car headed to a meeting. You're saving me from looking at the reports in my briefcase."

"Well, I like to be helpful," Sonny says without thinking. He grimaces at how it sounds, almost sarcastic. 

"Can I do anything for you?" the Chief asks. It's not like how he says it when the squad's pissed him off. He sounds casually helpful, like he's got all the time in the world to lend a hand. 

This is Mike's dad, Sonny realizes suddenly. This is the man Mike talks about when he quotes his dad or tells stories. This is the man who raised Mike. Not the Chief Sonny knows, but this man named William Dodds.

"Sonny? You still there?"

"I'm here," Sonny says quickly. "I just. Um. I don't know. I thought maybe...I don't know," he says, sighing in defeat. "Mike's asleep," he says. "I take it you know about his injuries."

"Yeah, he called me."

"Right," Sonny replies. "He said. Um...look, just, thank you for sending him my way. I really appreciate it."

"I'm glad to hear that."

He really is, Sonny thinks. He sounds happy, like he's glad he could do something for Sonny or for Mike or maybe for both of them. 

"I don't know what your schedule looks like today," Sonny says, his confusion lifting as his brain fully latches on to the fact he's talking to his boyfriend's dad, not to his boss, "and I don't know how long Mike is gonna sleep, but feel free to stop by."

"Thank you," William says. "I could come over around four, maybe?"

"Four works," Sonny replies. "I could make dinner."

"I'll bring groceries," William says. "I assume you're pretty bare bones right now because you were undercover."

"I am," Sonny says, "But you don't need to bring anything. I can call a delivery service."

"I'd like to," William says. "As a thank you for letting Mike in the door."

"I don't need thanks for that."

William chuckles drily. "I'd like to thank you anyway."

Sonny almost protests again, but he bites it back. He thinks about how he and Mike had cried on each other, how much better he feels now that he hasn't tried to stop the apologies. "Okay," he agrees. "I can cook just about anything, so dealer's choice."

"I look forward to it," William replies. "I'll text when I'm on my way so I can get your address."

"Great," Sonny says. "Have a good meeting."

"Thanks. Call if you need anything, Sonny."

"I will," Sonny says and says goodbye. He puts his phone on the kitchen counter and stares at the wall for a few seconds, not really sure what to do with himself. He walks down the hall and looks into the bedroom. Mike's still asleep, turned on his right side, one arm under the pillow. He looks completely relaxed.

Sonny reaches into the nightstand and quietly removes his rosary. He goes back to the living room and kneels in front of the couch, placing his elbows on the coffee table. He runs his thumb over the crucifix, then rolls a few of the beads between his fingers, centering himself on what he wants to say in his prayers. 

"Dear Lord, I thank you for this day you've granted me," he says, falling into the familiar morning prayer his parents taught him from the time he was born. "May I see love and joy in the world today and know that you are with me in my struggles. May I find ways to help and ways to support, and may I do it all in happiness for my fellow man." 

He takes a deep breath, feeling a bit calmer, and the first part of the serenity prayer flows out before he really thinks of it. "Please, God, give me the grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed; courage to change the things which should be changed, and the wisdom to distinguish one from the other."

He pauses, letting the prayer settle, debating if he wants to say the rest, but he feels like he's had enough hardship lately that he doesn't want to ask to take on more, and he certainly doesn't want to think of taking the world as it is. 

"I'm not Jesus," he says quietly, looking up at his ceiling. "I don't pretend to be. I want to forgive everything that's happened because it means Mike is alive, and I'd take another eight months or eight years or eight decades of grief if it meant he was safe. And I understand why I wasn't told. I don't hate anyone for not telling me the truth. Thank you for watching over him and bringing him back to me. I just…"

Sonny pauses. He realizes he's clutching his rosary so hard he can feel the individual beads digging into his palm. "I can't ask to be kept from hardship. I can't ask you to keep Mike from it, either. So, I guess I'll ask for peace. Please, Lord, give us peace. Let us rest for awhile. Let us have time to be together in the ways I think we're meant to be. I don't expect perfection. I don't want it. Just...let us be imperfect together, please."

He closes his eyes and drops his head onto his clasped hands. "Please," he whispers. "Amen." He crosses himself slowly and opens his hand. His palm is imprinted with the relief of his rosary beads. He rubs his thumb into the indentions as he stands up. He looks around the living room and tries to decide what to do until Mike wakes up. 

Sonny picks up his phone from the counter and opens his text thread with Amanda. 

**Sonny** : Mike's napping. Can I call you and whisper scream?

**Amanda** : Holy shit, yes. Just dropped Jesse at a playdate. I'm yours for the next three hours.

Sonny presses the button to call. It rings twice before Amanda picks up. 

"WHAT THE FUCK," she greets him.

Sonny chuckles. "I don't even know. I don't even fucking know."

"FUCK," Amanda says. "Just. FUCK."

Sonny's chuckle rolls into a laugh he has to muffle against his arm for fear of waking Mike. He can't speak, and he slides down to the floor as his legs give way from how hard he's shaking with laughter.

Amanda's still cursing on the other end of the line in between making incoherent sounds that somehow sound exactly like how confused he feels. 

"Holy shit, when Dodds walked in and told us, I poured coffee down my shirt."

"You didn't."

"Fin tripped over a chair. Liv's the only one who didn't do something dumb, but I honestly thought she was gonna slap his mouth clean off his face."

Sonny relaxes as Amanda's twang comes out. "Clean off his face, huh?"

"Shaddup. You wanna talk about things, or do you want a play-by-play of Jesse learning that if she says 'look' and lifts her shirt to show her stomach, people laugh?"

"Tell me the story," Sonny answers, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. "That sounds great."

Amanda launches into the story with gusto, and Sonny lets her amusement wash over him and refresh him. As soon as Sonny's done laughing over the first story, she gives him a detailed description of Jesse discovering a mud patch at daycare.

"--got her out of her diaper and found three pebbles. Took me ten minutes to get the daycare person to believe I was really okay with it and wasn't worried if she'd eaten them."

"She passed them if she did," Sonny says. 

"Exactly," Amanda says with a laugh. "There was another mom there who backed me up on the whole 'kids do dumb shit and put things in their mouths,' conversation, but there was this third woman who was listening to us like we were saying we're gonna put the babies to work in the mines."

"I bet she complained about you being irresponsible in a closed Facebook group."

"God, I hope so," Amanda replies.

Sonny laughs again and looks up as he hears the squeak of his bedroom door. "Hold on a sec," he says. He stands and walks to the hallway. Mike's standing just outside the bedroom door, hair going every direction. He looks half-asleep. 

"Bathroom," he says when he realizes Sonny is watching him.

"Need anything?" Sonny asks.

Mike shakes his head and shuffles into the bathroom. 

Sonny puts his phone back to his ear. "Sorry. Mike's sort of out of it from pain meds."

"The Chief said he had some bumps and bruises, but he didn't say anything about meds."

"He's got a broken rib or two, and his fingers are splinted, but I don't know if they're broken."

"Jammed," Mike says as he walks out of the bathroom. He waves. "Hi...Amanda?"

"Yeah," Sonny says with a smile. "Mike says hi."

"Fuck," Amanda says, and she's laughing again. "Sorry. This is still such a mindfuck."

"She says fuck," Sonny tells Mike.

"SONNY!" Amanda shouts.

But Mike smiles and shakes his head. "That's fair," he says. He yawns. "I think I need to sleep more."

"Your dad's coming at four. He's bringing food," Sonny says. 

"Okay." Mike pauses halfway in the bedroom door. "Tell Amanda I say fuck back."

"He says fuck back," Sonny tells Amanda.

She laughs. "Oh, good, he didn't take it personally."

Sonny stays at the end of the hallway and watches Mike lie down again. He hadn't closed the door behind him, so Sonny figures he can leave it. Maybe he needs to hear Sonny as much as Sonny needs to see him. "Catch me up on what I missed at work," he says as he turns towards the living room. "How useful are the two detectives the Lieu managed to get?"

"Barba stared down one of them so hard he hid in the breakroom," Amanda says. "The other one helped himself to some of Barba's office coffee."

"So, that one's dead, then," Sonny says. 

"I managed to creep show Barba's expression as it happened. Hold on, lemme send it to you."

Sonny stretches out on the couch and pulls his phone away from his ear when it dings. He chuckles at the photo. It's blurry, but the deeply offended expression on Barba's face is clear as can be. "Amazing," he says as he puts the phone to his ear again. "Tell me all about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to RafaelBarBae for showing me the entire Serenity prayer. I only knew the first couple of lines because of every show dealing with a character going to AA ever, and the whole prayer is really lovely. It let me add a nice bit of feeling to where Sonny's at right now.


	10. Chapter 10

Sonny talks with Amanda for another hour. She doesn't ask again if he wants to talk about anything serious, just plies him with stories and makes him laugh. "Thanks," he says, when she sighs and admits she should be picking up around the apartment while she's got some free time. "Just...thanks, a lot, okay?"

"You're welcome," she replies. "I'm here for you, all right? Night or day."

"I know," Sonny says. "Same to you."

"I know," she says. "I'll give Jesse a hug from you."

"Thanks."

"All right. I gotta go. Send me a report about dinner. I wanna hear about this mysterious dad-side of Dodds."

Sonny chuckles. "I'll let you know," he says. "Bye, Amanda."

"Bye."

Sonny disconnects the call and stares at his phone for a moment, grateful to his bones for everyone in his life. He briefly considers calling his parents and telling them about Mike, but before he can decide if he's got the energy for their understandable surprise and yelling, Mike shuffles into the living room with his hair going every which way and blinks sleepily at Sonny before smiling like he's looking at everything good in the world. 

"Hi," Mike says. 

"Hey," Sonny replies. He gets off the couch and walks to Mike. He holds out his hands, and Mike nods, so Sonny curls his hands on Mike's hips and stands on his toes to kiss Mike's forehead. "How's your pain?"

"Mild," Mike replies. He yawns. "I'm hungry."

"I can make more eggs, or we could order out," Sonny says. "You remember me telling you your dad's coming over at four?"

Mike shakes his head. "No. Did you wake me?"

"You got up to pee while I was talking to Amanda."

"You were talking to Amanda?"

Sonny laughs. "Wow, you really are useless on pain meds, aren't you?"

Mike groans. "Well, you've definitely talked to my dad if you know that."

Sonny pulls Mike in close, tucking his nose against Mike's neck and kissing under his chin. "I promise I'll never tell," he says. 

Mike presses a kiss into his hair. "You okay?" he asks quietly. "I sort of left you hanging after we cried."

Sonny considers the question, running his hands up and down Mike's back slowly. "I'm okay," he says. "Amanda caught me up on some fun stuff from work and sent me a video of Jesse."

"We should talk more," Mike says. He presses his face into Sonny's hair and tucks his fingers into the waistband of Sonny's sleep pants. "But I honestly don't want to right now."

"I don't either," Sonny replies. He pulls away from Mike just enough to look him in the eyes. "We're not going to hash out everything in a single day. We don't have to dig into everything right this second."

"Okay," Mike says. He leans in and brushes their noses together. "Thanks."

"Sure," Sonny replies. He reaches up and pushes Mike's hair away from his face. "You should take a shower," he says. "I'll call the deli and get someone to bring up a couple of sandwiches."

"That sounds good," Mike says. "Is there still coffee?"

"I'll start a fresh pot," Sonny says. "We can veg on the couch when you get out of the shower, okay?"

"That sounds great," Mike replies. He hugs Sonny carefully, then pulls away, walking to his duffel and taking out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt along with a small toiletry bag. He gives Sonny a quick, warm smile before walking to the bathroom.

Sonny calls the deli and places an order he's barely been able to think about for the last eight months. Ham and swiss with tomatoes and spicy mustard for him. Turkey and spinach with plain mustard and pickles for Mike. His heart hammers in his chest as the employee reads back his order, and for a moment, Sonny wants to run to the bathroom and throw open the door to be sure Mike hasn't disappeared. 

"Anything else?"

"Two of the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies," Sonny says, remembering how much Mike loved them but tried not to order them to be a bit healthier. "Actually, make it four."

"Four it is," the employee says. "Should be about thirty minutes."

"Great," Sonny replies. "Thanks."

He rinses the coffee pot and starts a fresh brew, then goes over to the coffee table and picks up Mike's pain pills, reading the label so he can set an alarm on his phone so Mike doesn't miss a dose. He shakes out the blanket on the couch and stacks the pillows so Mike can arrange them where he needs extra cushioning. Just as he's running out of things to do, the bathroom door opens, and Mike walks out with a cloud of steam trailing behind.

"I needed that," Mike says as he towels at his hair. "The shower last night was fine, but your water pressure is way better." He's got his sweatpants on with the shirt tucked into the waistband. Both of his gunshot scars are in stark relief, bright pink against the paler skin of his torso.

Sonny steps over to him, pressing his thumb against the scar on Mike's shoulder. "Does this one still bug you?"

"A little," Mike says. "Mostly when it's damp out."

"Did you have to explain it to Cathers?"

"Told him it was too personal to discuss," Mike replies. "I didn't want to come up with another lie, and honestly, it _was_ too personal." He reaches up and places his hand over Sonny's thumb. "It reminded me of SVU, of wanting to stay where I was and just be a part of a squad for awhile."

Sonny pulls Mike's hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles, careful not to jar his splinted fingers. "You're back," he says. "You can do that now."

"I want to," Mike says, looking into Sonny's eyes. "I hope everyone can forgive me for doing what I did."

"I don't know," Sonny answers truthfully, "but I'm sure they're ready to try."

Mike smiles softly. "You're biased."

"Yup," Sonny agrees. He presses another kiss to Mike's knuckles. "But if I can forgive you, so can they."

"Do you forgive me?" Mike asks. A look of shock flashes across his face. He hadn't meant to ask, Sonny figures. 

"Yes," Sonny answers. "And no."

Mike nods slowly. "That's fair," he says. "I put you through more than anyone else. I know that."

Sonny touches Mike's black eye, then trails his fingers around the edge of the bruises on Mike's ribs. "We'll talk about it later," Sonny says. "Right now, let's just be here."

"Okay." Mike leans in and kisses Sonny briefly. He tastes like toothpaste and smells like Irish Spring. When he pulls away, he looks at Sonny for a long moment. What he's looking for, Sonny doesn't know, but he doesn't look away. "Tell me how Jesse is," Mike says. 

Sonny beams. "She's great. You're gonna get a kick out of her." He watches Mike round the counter to the coffee pot and pour himself a cup. Sonny nods when Mike holds up the carafe in question. "She's starting to talk. It's amazing. I swear every time I see her or Amanda talks about her, she's learned five more words."

"What was her first word?" Mike asks, mixing creamer into both of their coffees.

"Frannie," Sonny says. He smiles when Mike laughs. "Amanda says given how Frannie dotes on Jesse, it's only right."

"That's amazing," Mike says. He walks back around the counter, a coffee mug in each hand. "Show me some photos?"

"Absolutely." Sonny leads the way to the couch so they can sit down. He opens his photos on his phone and waits for Mike to pull his t-shirt over his head. "Here," he says, handing him his phone. "That's her three-month old picture. You were still around then. You can just scroll through, and I can tell you about them."

"Okay." Mike scrolls slowly, looking like he's trying to memorize every photo and video. Sonny tells him about a few of the photos, but for the most part, he just lets Mike look at them or watch the videos. 

When the food arrives, Sonny gets up to answer the door. He unloads the bag on the kitchen counter and takes the sandwiches over to the couch. Mike puts down the phone when Sonny hands him his sandwich. "She's gotten so big," he says, and it sounds like he's trying not to cry.

"Yeah," Sonny says. "She has. I'm probably gonna go over to see her and Amanda in a couple of days. You could come with. She doesn't have a shy bone in her body. She'll love you."

Mike unwraps his sandwich carefully. "I'd like that if Amanda's okay with it."

"She also doesn't have a shy bone in her body," Sonny says, hoping to make Mike laugh. It works, and Sonny smiles when Mike looks at him. "You want to see what's on ESPN Classic?"

"Yeah," Mike says. He shifts so he's facing the television, picking up half his sandwich and taking a bite. He closes his eyes and sighs quietly while he chews. "Holy shit, I have missed your deli. I didn't even realize it until I took a bite."

Sonny chuckles. "I got four of those white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies for after we eat," he says. "I figured we could use them to celebrate you being back."

Mike looks like Sonny's just told him he bought him something fancy and expensive. "You're amazing. I swear I dreamt about those cookies any time I had to smile and nod through someone's dessert up in Jackson."

"Did you have Summer's ambrosia salad?" Sonny asks.

Mike looks pained. "Sadly, yes, many times." His eyes widen as he realizes why Sonny's asking the question. "Wait. Did you have to eat it?"

"Twice."

Mike barks a laugh. He has to put his sandwich down so he doesn't drop it and make a mess. "Oh my god, you must have hated it."

"It is one of the worst examples of that terrible salad I've ever had in my life," Sonny says, "And I remind you I've been going to church potlucks since I was an _infant_."

"She was so proud of it," Mike says, shaking his head. "And every time she'd put it on the table, I'd think about you, and I'd smile, and she thought I was smiling because I liked it so much."

Sonny laughs, throwing his head back and getting spicy mustard on his hands as he squeezes his sandwich so it can't slip out of his grip. "I'd apologize, but that's the funniest thing I've heard in a week."

"Oh my god," Mike gasps, laughing again. He sucks in a sharp breath and winces. "Okay, ow. Ribs. Ribs."

Sonny checks the time. They've got ninety minutes until Mike needs his next dose. "You need a pill early?" he asks. "The bottle said every six hours or as needed."

"Hold on," Mike replies, breathing carefully as he presses his fingers against his ribcage. He winces and curses under his breath when he hits a tender spot. "Um. Yeah, I think so."

Sonny puts down his sandwich and wipes the mustard off his hands with a napkin. He picks up the pill bottle and opens it, tipping a pill into Mike's waiting hand. "You want water?"

"Coffee's fine," Mike says, slipping the pill in his mouth as he reaches for his cup. He takes a drink, then leans back against the couch. "I'm probably gonna fall asleep again as soon as we're done eating," he says. "Sorry in advance."

"Hey, I don't have any plans until your dad gets here," Sonny replies. "It's fine." He stretches out his leg and taps Mike's calf with his toes. "Eat up. I'll save you a few cookie crumbs for when you wake up."

"You're a true gentleman," Mike says with an amused snort as he picks up his sandwich again.

Sonny grins at him and reaches for the remote, clicking on the television and flipping the channel to ESPN Classic. They're showing football, and Sonny lets himself sink into the couch, shoulder-to-shoulder with Mike as they eat and come up with fake names for the second string every time the camera pans to the bench. 

Twenty minutes later, Mike shifts and lays his head on Sonny's shoulder. "Okay?" he asks.

"Of course," Sonny says. He lifts his arm so Mike can curl in closer, the way he's always liked. Sonny presses his nose into Mike's hair, smelling his shampoo as Mike slides an arm around his waist and taps twice at his waist. Sonny's hand clenches on Mike's shoulder. He'd forgotten that Mike had taken their two-tap signal and used it when they were alone, too, when he was too tired to talk but wanted to be certain Sonny knew how he felt. 

"I love you," Sonny breathes into Mike's hair. He runs his hand up and down Mike's back and feels the slow, subtle shift of Mike falling asleep, his weight resting a bit more heavily against Sonny. Sonny's forgotten this too, the way Mike goes to sleep so easily, warm and content to be cuddled around Sonny. 

Sonny closes his eyes and thinks back to before everything happened, when it was just him and Mike falling in love and figuring each other out. He lets himself remember all the details now, for the first time in eight months, and other little moments come up to the surface. The way Mike always sneezes when he pours hot sauce on his food. Mike rolling his eyes as Sonny tries to explain why you don't buy a certain brand of pasta noodles. Mike looking up from his paperwork and meeting Sonny's eyes across the room, sending him a quick, warm smile before going back to what he was doing. 

And Sonny remembers waking up in the early morning and the way the daylight cut around the edges of his blinds, giving him just enough light to see the shape of Mike in bed with him. He remembers staying at Mike's for the first time and discovering his closet is precisely organized but his sock drawer is a disaster. He thinks about all of Mike's books, how he always has two or three going at a time; how he started leaving one at Sonny's almost as soon as they started dating. 

He remembers Mike making pancakes for his cheat day. Mike agreeing to try yoga since Sonny liked it so much. Mike smiling down at Jesse the first time Amanda brought her in and, later, when Jesse started to fuss, offering to walk her around the squad room so Amanda could get a couple of minutes of peace. 

He remembers their first, careful kiss, and the first time they made love. Their first fight and their first mutual apology. All the small details he'd tucked away the day he'd thought Mike died, afraid to look directly at them because they could cut him to pieces he couldn't put back together.

And now Mike's here again, asleep on his shoulder like it's a lazy Saturday afternoon, and Sonny feels peaceful for the first time since seeing Mike's face in Jackson. He closes his eyes and matches Mike's breathing, and lets himself doze in the warmth of Mike's body and the soft surge of so many memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundwithinthesilence swung in with a beta assist, and I am so glad! Honestly, this fic wouldn't be getting updated so regularly if not for SWTS being so helpful.


	11. Chapter 11

Sonny wakes up a half hour later with a small crick in his neck. He shifts carefully, not surprised when Mike doesn't do more than mutter incoherently as Sonny maneuvers him into a fully reclined position on the couch. He watches Mike sleep for a moment, then presses a kiss to his lax mouth and lays the couch blanket over him. 

There's still a couple of hours before William shows up, and Sonny isn't sure what to do with himself. There's nothing to keep him busy in the kitchen, and he's still not quite ready to call his parents. They'll understand. They always have, and when they find out Mike's alive, Sonny's sure they'll be even more understanding than usual. 

Mike had met them a handful of times, first at Sunday dinner, meeting them after Mass, and when Sonny's Aunt Emma had passive-aggressively asked why he hadn't been at Mass, Mike had offered to come the next week if she was inviting him. Before Aunt Emma--who had never referred to any of Sonny's boyfriends as anything other than 'that young man you know'--could find a way to say that no, that _wasn't_ what she was trying to do, Sonny's Mom had clapped in delight and told Mike he was more than welcome any time he could make it, but neither she nor Sonny's dad considered it a requirement to date their children.

"Our faith is our rock," Ma had explained to Mike, "but not everyone uses the same rock."

"I was vaguely Catholic growing up," Mike had replied, "and I'd be happy to be vaguely Catholic again."

Ma had cut Sonny a quick smirk, her eyes laughing at the way Aunt Emma bristled. "Wonderful. You feel free to come to church with us whenever it works for you. Sonny's good about making it most of the time, but even he doesn't have a perfect record."

"He would if he'd stayed near the family," Aunt Emma had said with a pointed look.

"He is near family!" Ma had replied. "Bella's in Manhattan, too! And even if she weren't, there's--oh, Dom, we did the count on this the other day--nine or ten on your side up there?"

"Eleven," Dad had said. "Almost twelve once Toni has the new baby."

"A whole dozen!" Ma had replied, beaming at Aunt Emma, "and that's not even counting the spouses and partners."

Aunt Emma had muttered something unkind about 'spouses and partners' and gone quiet for the rest of the meal.

"I apologize for my sister," Ma had said as he and Mike were getting their coats on later in the day. "She's always been a pill, and she refuses to accept the idea that people worship differently and live differently and love differently than what she thinks is appropriate."

"We keep her around because she does the dishes to martyr herself," Dad had added, laughing when Ma had given him a long-suffering look. "Well, Tessa," Dad had said in a passable imitation of Emma's sharp voice, "why would you _ever_ do the dishes when you've cooked the entree? I'm sure no one's side dish took nearly as man pots and pans."

Mike had laughed. "There's one in every family," he'd said. "It's an act of love to break bread with them."

"Oh, keep hold of this one," Ma had said, beaming. "You hear me, Sonny?"

"I hear you, Ma," Sonny had replied, sharing a quick grin with his dad. Despite appearances--Ma being the warm, welcoming presence and Dad being the quiet type--it was Ma you had to win over to get into the house a second time, and Mike had clearly passed the test.

"We'll see you soon," Dad had said, shaking Mike's hand. "For Mass or supper or whatever works best for you."

"Thank you. I look forward to seeing you again," Mike had replied, smiling and accepting the hug Ma offered by opening her arms. "Thank you for a wonderful meal."

"You're welcome. You two get back to the city safe."

"We will, Ma," Sonny had promised.

Mike had laughed most of the way back to the city as Sonny told him more stories of Aunt Emma's live-in-a-rut ways and other times she'd tried to undercut Ma at her own table. He'd told Sonny he was about seventy percent sure he knew where his rosary was, and when he'd shown up at Sonny's the next Sunday for the trip out to Staten Island, he'd had it in his shirt pocket.

"I don't even know that I remember how to say the rosary," Mike had confessed as they'd boarded the ferry. "But I figured at least having it was something."

"You could have shown up without and been fine," Sonny had replied. "Even Father Al would have given you a pass as a visitor."

Father Al. 

Sonny snaps out of his memory. He's standing at the window by his bookshelves, his phone in one hand. He glances over his shoulder. Mike's still asleep. Sonny walks into the bedroom and shuts the door behind him. He brings up Father Al's number and looks at it for a few seconds before tapping the call button. He'll have office hours right now. If he's busy, Sonny will just leave a message.

Sister Humilitus, Father Al's assistant, answers the line after three rings. "Sonny!" she says when he tells her who she is, "We've missed you the last few weeks!"

"Work," he says. "But I promise I said a prayer for you, Sister Hum."

"Well, you know we nuns need it most. Father Al just finished a call. Let me make sure he doesn't want to pop out for a snack before he talks to you, okay?"

"Sure." Sonny takes a deep breath as the hold music starts. He opens the bedroom door and glances out. Mike's still asleep. Sonny can hear quiet snores. 

"Sonny, he said he's happy to talk to you. He doesn't have any other appointments, so don't feel like you have to rush."

Sonny smiles, Sister Hum's warmth hitting him right where he needs it like it always does. "Thank you, Sister."

"You go with god, Sonny."

"You too, Sister."

There's a brief pause, then a click, and then Father Al's bass voice. "Sonny! Good to hear from you. Your mother came in to light a candle yesterday and said you'd just gotten back from some undercover work."

"Yeah," Sonny says. "Yeah, I did."

"I am grateful God has delivered you safely home," Father Al says. "I thought your mother was lighting the candle because something had happened to you, but she said she got your usual message that you were home, which meant you were safe."

Sonny's words catch in his throat. "Yeah," he manages to say, "I'm safe."

There's a pause. The one Sonny has been calling the 'priest pause' since he was fourteen and went to Father Francis in tears because he'd spent a year trying to pray away his urge to kiss boys and was beyond desolate that it hadn't worked. Father Francis had had the same sort of pause, quiet but not scary. Intense but not stressful. Sonny had felt like Father Francis was making sure he'd heard him and was responding to Sonny's exact problem before he'd spoken. And now, Father Al was doing the same.

"You're safe," Father Al says after a moment. "But are you sound?"

"I'm trying to be," Sonny says. "But…" He doesn't know where to start. "Father, I need to request confidentiality. I trust you not to betray my trust, but I'm not making a confession."

"And you're a lawyer," Father Al says with a quiet laugh. Sonny finds himself laughing as well. "You have my word what is said between us in this call will stay confidential until you let me know otherwise."

"Thank you." Sonny takes a few moments to breathe and try to figure out how to even say the words he needs to say. "It's not the undercover work that's giving me issues," he finally starts. "It was difficult, but it was necessary. The people I was involving myself with weren't good people, but I had time to prep for that."

"Good," Father Al says, his voice nothing but warm encouragement. "I'm glad you're not feeling you're one of those people."

"Thank you, Father." Sonny takes another deep breath. "Father…" Sonny drops on the bed, then flops backwards so he's prone. He stares at the ceiling for a few moments. Father Al stays quiet in that same open way as before. "Do you remember Mike, Father?" he's not surprised to hear his voice crack.

"I do," Father Al says quietly. "He only came to Mass a few times, but your mother kept me updated on the two of you. Things were going well before he died, as I recall."

"Yeah, they were," Sonny says. He breathes out and hears the shuddery sound he makes. 

"It's okay to still feel grief, Sonny. And it's still healthy to feel loss and anger, or to feel happy."

Sonny's too tightly wound to laugh at Father Al's attempt to help and how off the mark it is. He takes another breath and swallows down the urge to cry. "Mike's alive," he says, and his voice is so quiet, he's not sure Father Al even heard him. "Mike's alive," he says again, louder this time. "He's been in deep cover for the last eight months, and the undercover assignment I was sent on was to meet with him and get information, but I didn't know it was him until I got there, and now he's asleep on my couch."

The pause this time is not the priest pause. It's one of complete shock. "Well, fuck me," Father Al finally says.

Sonny does laugh at that. It's so close to Amanda's response, and it soothes him that two people he trusts so deeply have short-circuited the same way. "Father, you have no idea how much that helps."

"No, I don't," Father Al says through his own disbelieving laugh. "You know, Sonny, there are days I think the Lord has shown me every difficulty a human being can survive, and every now and again, the Lord makes sure to remind me he's much more clever in these things than I could ever imagine."

"Do you get mad at God for doing that to you?" Sonny asks without thinking. 

"Sometimes," Father Al says easily. "I believe God is love, and I believe life includes some suffering, but there are times I wish the Almighty wouldn't require some people to carry their burdens and their joys at fifty-fifty or worse. But each time someone comes to me with a difficulty I hadn't yet imagined, I always come to the conclusion that I am here as a messenger of the Holy Father. He cannot be on Earth to explain his reasons, but I am here on Earth to help people walk through or recover from their difficulties. I am also here to tell them it's okay to be mad at God as they work to figure out why he's given them so many burdens. Anger doesn't have to exist in an emotional vacuum. You can be angry at someone and still love them."

"That one I know pretty well right now," Sonny admits. "Even though I know all the reasons Mike couldn't tell me and why his father couldn't tell me. It still makes me so angry."

"It's a natural reaction. Even the best-meant lie is still a lie. I can't imagine how difficult it must be for you to know all the reasons you weren't told and know that those reasons were for Mike's safety while also knowing you grieved his loss when you believed he was dead."

"Yeah," Sonny breathes, "It's been...I carried his casket, Father. I mean...I was supposed to go on that call where he got shot, but he went instead, and then he was shot, and just when we thought he would pull through, they faked his death, and...I carried his casket, Father. I should have been the one to take that call, and I carried his fucking casket."

There's another priest pause. "Mike's taller than you, isn't he?"

Sonny's thrown by the question, but it doesn't stop him answering. "Yeah. He's got two inches on me."

"Where was he shot?"

"In the abdomen. It nicked an artery."

"If you'd been shot, it'd have been two inches lower," Father Al says. "I won't pretend like I have an advanced knowledge of anatomy, but I think it's safe to say that if that bullet had hit you, your chances of surviving were much, much lower than Mike's."

Sonny shakes his head. "I don't understand your meaning, Father."

"You carried his casket," Father Al says, "but Mike survived. You grieved, and you felt guilt about not being the one to take that call, but if you had taken that call, and the roles were reversed, Mike would have carried _your_ casket, and you'd have actually been dead. Your anger at the lies is legitimate. Feeling guilty you weren't shot is not."

Sonny feels tears trickle out of his eyes and drip into his ears. "I want to forgive him, Father."

"You have to forgive yourself, too, Sonny," Father Al says quietly, the steady, loving tone of his voice reminding Sonny of Father Francis telling him that God didn't make mistakes, that Sonny couldn't pray away his urge to kiss boys because God didn't see a sin when he'd built Sonny to have such a capacity to love. "Forgive yourself for being so harsh to yourself. Forgive yourself for holding yourself to a standard you would never ask anyone else to take. You didn't know what was going to happen the day that Mike was shot, and you couldn't possibly have known."

"It was a domestic violence--"

"I know the stats," Father Al interrupts, his tone threaded with an authority that makes Sonny go quiet. "Domestic abusers are more likely to be aggressive and physical with police when they show up, but that doesn't always mean someone getting shot. And there's no way to know which abusers will pull a weapon and which will just yell and scream as they're being arrested. It's not your fault that this particular abuser shot someone. And it's not your fault Mike was shot."

Sonny feels more tears drip into his ears. "Father…" he doesn't know what else to say. 

"Give thanks that you survived your hardship," Father Al says. "Give thanks that Mike is alive. Forgive yourself. Forgive Mike. Focus on healing--yourself and your relationship with Mike. Remember that forgiveness is only a step in healing, not the _only_ step in healing. Give thanks to God that he's rewarded you with a second chance."

"Is it a reward?" Sonny asks. "It feels...It feels like I owe him."

"You owe God only what you've always given him. Sonny. You are devoted to his greatest ideals and are willing to keep fighting for them even in the face of a church body that wants to downplay the evil at its own pulpits. You are kind and charitable and loving and stay within a church that says your love for Mike is an abomination. You know I don't believe that, and I know Father Francis didn't believe that, and I can tell you we have both been very grateful that you have chosen to stay in the church despite what the higher ups say. I still remember the day we met. You came into the office and told me you were queer, and that if I had a problem with that, you still wouldn't leave."

Sonny laughs wetly. "I remember," he says. He'd been twenty-three when Father Al had moved into the parish, and he'd been out to his family for seven years. When Father Francis had announced his departure to another parish, Sonny had announced at Sunday dinner that same day that he wouldn't be faking straight for a new priest. Aunt Emma had tried to talk him out of it, but Sonny had shut her down. His mother had promised to support him. Bella had hugged him hard. Gina and Teresa had given him tight smiles that said they didn't really know how they felt about his announcement, but they'd jump any priest who tried to make Sonny feel bad about himself. And just before he'd left that evening, his father had pulled him aside and told him that if he needed to call and vent, he was there to listen. 

"You also said you saw no reason to have a problem with it," Sonny says. 

"And I asked if it was okay if I shared that information with other people who might be struggling," Father Al adds. "Do you remember?"

"Yeah, I do." Sonny replies. "I know you've sent a couple of people my way to ask questions over the years."

"I have, and you've always found time to counsel them. There are others who aren't out to their families who have come to me for help, and I've been able to say to them 'Look at Sonny Carisi. He's a practicing Catholic. He isn't straight. He will tell you that God loves you and doesn't make mistakes.' They haven't sought you out because they're not out to their families, but they tell me it helps to look at you or your family at Mass and know that you're with them. I won't name names, of course, but I can also say that at least three people came to me crying with happiness because you and Mike were together at Mass, and you didn't hesitate to introduce him as your boyfriend."

Sonny thinks back to those Sundays, to the disapproving looks he got a few times when introducing Mike. "I wasn't doing it for them, Father."

"But that's why it was so powerful, Sonny. Those kids saw a man who loves God, loves his faith, and loves his boyfriend. You showed them that God doesn't make mistakes. God doesn't give you more than you can carry. That God wants them to have happiness. And because you have loved and embraced the Lord, he has loved and embraced you in return. 

"You had to carry a heavier burden than most when Mike died. But God knew you could carry it. And he has rewarded you for carrying it by bringing Mike back to you. God doesn't make mistakes, Sonny. If Mike were meant to have passed, he wouldn't be asleep on your couch right now. It's not fair of God to ask so much of you, and you're allowed to be mad at him about it, but don't be mad at yourself for surviving it. Don't think you owe God anything more than you've already given. Your reward is with you because God is with you, and he wants you to know he appreciates what you sacrificed."

Sonny doesn't speak for a long moment, letting Father Al's words sink into his bones. "Thank you, Father," he finally says. He has no other words. 

"You're welcome, Sonny. And thank you for trusting me with all of this."

"When I tell my folks, I'll let them know that you know so they don't have to worry," Sonny says.

Father Al laughs. "This is what I mean, Sonny. You live God's hope of kindness and devotion to others. Don't forget that that kindness and devotion is for yourself as well."

Sonny chuckles, wiping at his eyes. "I'll do my best, Father."

"That's all any of us can do, Sonny. Go with God."

"Go with God," Sonny answers and ends the call. He stares at the ceiling for a few more seconds, then sits up, clenching the comforter between his hands before he stands. 

Mike's awake but bleary-eyed when Sonny comes out of the bedroom. He's looking around, clearly trying to figure out where Sonny went. When he spots him, he gives him a warm, sleepy, smile then lays back down. 

Sonny leans over the back of the couch. Mike reaches towards him with his uninjured hand, and Sonny takes it. Mike taps his palm twice, and Sonny kisses his knuckles. Mike falls back asleep almost instantly, but Sonny doesn't let go of his hand. He strokes his thumb over Mike's knuckles and thinks about what Father Al said, about this second chance being a gift from God. About how it's okay to be angry with God.

Sonny glances upwards and squeezes Mike's hand gently. "I'm not doing this again," he whispers. "And you're an asshole for making me go through it once. I know Job was rewarded ten fold for the struggle you put him through, but I'm not fucking Job, okay? I don't want to be Job, and Job didn't deserve what you did in the first place. If I'm some bet with the devil so you can prove I'll love you through anything, you won't like what happens if you push me again."

Mike makes a small noise, and Sonny leans down, pressing a kiss to his temple. He hums quietly in Mike's ear until Mike settles again, and then he slowly steps away, feeling calmer and less wound up than when he woke up. He settles in the armchair with a book, Mike in his sight as he takes a deep breath and lets himself feel a small measure of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting Sonny to threaten God, but I'm here for it. 
> 
> Remember four chapters ago when I said I thought this fic would be done in three chapters? That was very funny.


	12. Chapter 12

Mike wakes up at three, groggy from the meds and only nodding when Sonny offers to pour him a cup of coffee. He takes it with a smile and shifts so Sonny can sit on the edge of the couch. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," Sonny replies. He leans in and kisses Mike on the forehead. "Your dad's going to be here in an hour. How you feeling?"

"Okay," Mike says. He sips his coffee and leans against the back of the couch. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Sonny says. "I called Father Al and told him about everything. It was helpful."

"I'm glad," Mike says. He yawns. "I should put on real clothes if Dad's gonna be here."

"I'm sure he won't mind you being in sweats."

Mike shrugs. "No, but I would. I want to feel like I'm at least semi-functional." He tucks two fingers into the front of Sonny's shirt and tugs lightly. "Mind if I borrow this back?"

Sonny glances down. He'd forgotten he was wearing Mike's shirt. "I've been in it for over a day. It can't smell great."

"It'll smell like you," Mike says. 

Sonny looks at him, prepared to tease, but Mike's sincere expression stops him short. "Okay," he says. He unbuttons the shirt and slips it off his arms, handing it to Mike. "I should probably shower," he says. "You need anything before I do?"

"I'm okay," Mike replies. "Take your time."

"Okay." Sonny stands and goes into the bathroom, spending a few minutes under the shower just letting the warm water run over him and relax him. He presses his hands against the wall and ducks his head, consciously relaxing his shoulders and back. He feels lighter than he has in months. Letting himself feel angry at God for taking Mike, letting himself admit how guilty he feels about his part in Mike getting shot, it's taken some of his stress away, let him clear his thoughts out in a way that's been impossible since Mike was shot. 

He puts on a pair of lounge pants and an NYPD shirt, scratching at his beard as he walks back into the living room. Mike's still on the couch, the tv on low as he sips at his coffee. "You think I have time to shave before your dad gets here?"

"Probably not," Mike replies. He turns so he can see Sonny. "I like it, by the way. I've never seen you with a beard."

"You like your man rugged, huh?" Sonny asks, ducking down so he can rub his beard against Mike's cheek.

"I like you however I can get you," Mike says, chuckling at the way Sonny's beard tickles his face. "I'm just saying, if you wanted to keep it, I wouldn't talk you out of it."

Sonny thinks about that as he hugs Mike lightly around his shoulders. "I'll think about it," he says. "I just grew it for the case, but there's no reason I can't keep it. I've had one before. It's easy to care for."

"Where are the photos of you with a beard?" Mike asks. "I don't remember your mom ever showing me."

"I grew one at the academy," Sonny says. "She was only up to my embarrassing junior high pictures the last time you saw her."

"Well, I'll have to request we break out of chronological order," Mike replies.

Sonny's phone rings, and he picks it up from the coffee table. "It's your dad," he says to Mike as he swipes to answer. "William, hi."

"Sonny!" William sounds he did earlier: warm and happy to talk to his son's boyfriend. "I'm getting steak and lobster if that's okay. You said you can cook anything but if you'd prefer something else, that's fine."

"No, steak and lobster sounds good," Sonny says. He watches Mike roll his eyes fondly and feels himself grinning. "A vegetable wouldn't be a bad idea."

"I was thinking a leafy greens salad with tomatoes and maybe some feta if you think that'd taste good," William says. "Oh, and red wine, of course."

"That all sounds great."

"I'm also getting you some staples, like I said. Eggs, milk, butter, some lunch meat, apples, oranges. Do you like bacon? I can get some bacon. Maybe some porkchops or chicken breasts from the deli."

Sonny has to swallow back a laugh at William's recitation. "Bacon's fine. I prefer bone-in chops and chicken thighs rather than breasts."

"Get chili supplies!" Mike yells.

"I heard him," Williams says, chuckling. "He's mentioned your chili. Do you need any spices?"

"I'm always fine on spices," Sonny says. "Just beans and ground beef is fine."

"I'll get some onions and celery, too. How about potatoes?"

"Um, yeah, that's all fine. Yellow onions for chili. Regular potatoes are good."

"Great. Do you need any baking supplies?"

Sonny finally gives in and laughs. "No, thanks. I'm fine with all that. I appreciate you wanting to get me stocked up, but everything you've listed is more than enough."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop asking questions, just tell me if you need anything for your coffee."

"Um, actually, half and half would be great. I've only got powdered creamer right now."

"Good. Good. I'll get you a fresh bottle. How's Mike?"

"Well, he's awake so you can ask him yourself if you'd like."

"Please."

Sonny holds the phone out to Mike. Mike takes it, saying hello to his dad as he stands from the couch and walks to put his empty coffee cup in the sink. Sonny listens to Mike answer his dad's questions. Yes, he's been sleeping a lot. No, he's not hurting right now. Yes, that all sounds good for dinner. No, he doesn't think there's anything special he needs from the store. Yes, Sonny has beer. Yes, Sonny has wine. No, Mike doesn't think he'll be insulted if his dad brings a couple of nice bottles to have with dinner.

"How are you getting everything upstairs?" Mike asks. "Yeah, there's an elevator, but that's still--" Mike cuts off with a small laugh. "I see. Okay. Yeah, we'll see you when you get here. Love you. Bye." He disconnects the call and holds the phone out to Sonny.

"How _is_ he getting that all upstairs?" Sonny asks. "Is he going to call when he's here so we can help?"

"No, he says he borrowed one of those rolling carts from a neighbor, so it'll all be in one of those."

Sonny tries to picture Chief Dodds pulling a rolling cart full of groceries behind him. Even when he reminds himself it's Mike's dad who'll be doing it, he can't picture it. "That just doesn't seem like a real thing that's about to happen," he says to Mike. "All I can see is your dad in one of his suits."

Mike grins. "Yeah, I get that. You're still getting to know him as my dad, huh?"

"Yeah," Sonny says. He gives Mike a smile. "I like him so far."

"I'm really glad," Mike says. "I'm so grateful you could forgive him for lying like he did."

"Hey, none of that right now," Sonny replies, stepping close to place his hands on Mike's chest. "We already talked more than we meant to about things today. Let's try to keep it out of the room unless your dad wants to talk about it, okay?"

Mike nods slowly. "Okay," he says. He reaches up and curls his hands loosely around Sonny's wrists. "I love you," he says quietly. 

Sonny runs his thumbs up and down the weave of Mike's shirt. The one Mike left here. The one Mike is wearing now because it smells like Sonny. "I love you, too," he says, and they kiss gently, Mike sliding his hands from Sonny's wrists to his fingers so they can interlace their hands and hold onto each other as the kiss deepens.

There's no heat to the kiss, just warm pressure and a slow, careful exploration of one another's mouths, a kiss to reacquaint them with each other. Sonny breathes against Mike's mouth as they tilt their heads to switch the angle, and he feels that new lightness come to the forefront again. This is different than the kiss they shared when Mike arrived last night, and it's different from the kisses they've had throughout the day. Sonny's kept all of his kisses since that first one short, placed them as often as possible away from Mike's mouth.

He'd been keeping his distance to a certain degree, but he'd known that as he did it. What he knows now thanks to his conversation with Father Al is why he felt the need. It wasn't because he was angry at Mike like he'd told himself. It was because he was angry at God for yanking him around but thinking it was wrong to be mad to be treated like this, and he was angry at himself for being the one to put Mike in danger. 

Except, he hadn't put Mike in danger. Mike had done the job they both did, and he'd gotten shot because sometimes that's what happened. And Sonny could love God and be angry at what he'd put Sonny through. And he could still be angry and sad and frustrated at the time he'd lost with Mike and how Mike had come back to him. None of it stopped him from loving Mike, from wanting what he had right this moment, these soft, promising kisses and Mike's hands wrapped around his.

They can heal from all this together, Sonny thinks. He pulls away to tell Mike just that, but he's interrupted by a knock on the door.

"That's Dad," Mike says. He dips down and gives Sonny one last kiss. "I'll get the door so you can pull out all your pots and pans."

Sonny smiles in response, squeezing Mike's hands before he lets go. "Okay." 

Sonny grabs his stockpot from the cabinet above the stove and puts it in the sink, starting the water running with a quick flick of his wrist as Mike greets his dad and gestures for him to come inside.

Sonny gets his cast iron out from under the kitchen island while watching William step inside, and Sonny has to swallow a laugh at how weird it looks. Chief fucking Dodds standing next to his front door peeling off his sensible, black wool coat to show a deep green sweater and slacks, a bright purple shopping cart--that may have a glitter handle? Sonny isn't sure--positioned just behind his feet. He's looking around Sonny's living area clearly taking in the bookshelves and the furniture, then landing on Sonny himself and giving him a smile that's so friendly, Sonny's taken aback for a moment.

"This is a great place," William says, gesturing with one arm. He turns and rests his hands on Mike's shoulders, obviously concerned about jostling his ribs. "You already look ten times better than you did last night," he says.

"Well, I've slept," Mike replies, his smile indulgent as his dad cups his face. 

"I'm sure the company's helped, too," William says like it's nothing. He gives Sonny a ridiculous wink that makes Mike roll his eyes. "Or maybe just all those pain pills."

"Six of one," Sonny replies, unable to resist responding to such a friendly sort of teasing tone. It's the same one his family's always used on each other but especially when wanting to bring friends and partners into a joke. "Or maybe eight of the pills. He's slept a lot."

"Good," William says, turning his attention back to Mike. His grin softens, and he pulls Mike into a careful hug. "I am so glad you're back, kiddo."

"Me, too, Dad," Mike replies. 

Sonny puts the cast iron on a burner and turns to get the canola oil from a cupboard to give them a moment.

"I'm sure you have opinions on steak," Wililam says as he breaks away from Mike and wheels the shopping cart closer to Sonny. Up close, Sonny can confirm it has glitter handles, and he wishes desperately for a way to snap a picture to send to Amanda. She'd lose her fucking mind. "I hope ribeye is okay. I didn't even realize I hadn't checked with you until the woman at the checkout scanned them, and I didn't want to hold up the line."

Sonny glances at Mike, wondering if he understands how _weird_ it is that Chief fucking Dodds is apologizing to him for a possible steak-related foul. Mike cuts Sonny a quick grin. He's very aware. "I love ribeye," Sonny replies because it's true, but also because he'd lie through his teeth to make his boyfriend's dad comfortable. "People think it's hard to cook, but it's just about making sure you get the fat rendered properly."

"Do I win or lose points if I admit I use Alton Brown's recipe?" William asks as he starts to unload the shopping cart. He pulls out a bakery box first, then the steaks and a pack of lobster tails. "I hope you don't mind I brought a cake. It's one of Mike's favorites."

Mike leans over the island to get a look at the box, then he whoops. "Fuck yes, cheesecake!"

Sonny laughs, Mike's glee as infectious as Wiliam's clear effort to make a good impression. "That's a really good bakery," he says. "I use them a lot."

"I've heard stories about your homemade desserts," William replies as he continues to take groceries out of the shopping cart. "I'll take that as a compliment to my good taste."

"Please do," Sonny says. He glances at Mike, who gives him a soft, happy smile. "You want to put stuff away? You know where it goes."

"Sure," Mike says, coming around the island to start putting things in the fridge.

"Oh, and grab the wine glasses," Sonny adds as William pulls out not one or two or three bottles of red, but _four_.

"I don't expect us to get through all of them tonight," William says. "But I wanted to be covered in case you wanted to make a sauce or something."

Sonny laughs again. He can't help it. He looks at Mike, who's set the wineglasses up in a row and is now clearly looking for the aerator in Sonny's kitchen tool drawer. "I'm starting to think your lack of cooking skill was some weird show of defiance."

"I promise you, it really isn't," Mike says.

"He tried," William says as he puts the last of the groceries on the counter. "He tried a lot. He's just never been great in the kitchen. I'm no natural, either, but once Alton Brown started explaining food as chemistry, I got noticeably better."

"I totally understand what Alton Brown is saying, but I still can't cook for shit," Mike adds, pulling both the aerator and the corkscrew from the tool drawer. He passes them both to his dad, who immediately gets to work opening the wine. "We watched a _lot_ of Food Network when I was in high school and before I went to Basic, and none of it ever worked for me."

"I think it's because you've always been so practical," William says. He cuts the top of the foil on the wine bottle like he's done it a thousand times and works the corkscrew in without a hitch. "Give you something straightforward to do with your hands, and you ace it. Seriously, Sonny, if anything in your apartment goes haywire, let Mike loose on it. It won't be a problem once he's done. He's also a natural at replacing buttons and sewing seams."

"The Home Ec teacher loved me when we were learning to sew, but she started to fear me when we were in the kitchen," Mike adds, and Sonny laughs again, delighted at the way Mike and his dad play off each other. 

"Has he told you about the biscuit fiasco?" William asks as he fits the aerator into the neck of the wine bottle and pours them each a glass--Mike's noticeably lower than the other two. 

"He's only ever told me he can't cook for shit," Sonny replies. He clicks on the burner under the cast iron and gives Mike a smile of thanks when he passes over the chopping knife he prefers for vegetables. "There's never been mention of fiascoes."

William pauses, glass halfway to his mouth. "Well, maybe I--"

"You tell it better than me," Mike interrupts his dad as he picks up his own glass. "Go for it."

"Well, you've already admitted to Sonny you can't cook," William says. He sips his wine and settles on one of the barstools. "He was in eighth grade, and like he said, the sewing part of Home Ec was a breeze for him…"

Sonny sips his own wine and starts chopping vegetables as William tells the story. Mike turns off the water for the stock pot and places the sautee pan on the stove while Sonny hefts the stockpot onto a back burner and flips the heat up on high. Mike unwraps the steaks and seasons them with salt and pepper while Sonny finishes chopping the vegetables and adds some spices to the water in the stockpot to bring out the flavors in the lobster tails. He has to pause a few times to laugh when William hits an especially funny point in the story, and when he glances at Mike to tease him about messing up _biscuits_ of all things, he finds Mike is watching him and smiling.

Sonny takes the step required to be toe-to-toe with Mike and kisses him without thinking. "You're hopeless," he says. 

Mike chuckles and shrugs. "Or maybe it's all an elaborate ruse to make you do all the cooking."

"It's not," William says.

And Sonny's laughing again, the other two joining in. It feels good to laugh easily, to be in this moment and get the chance to know Mike's dad as a person and not just a boss. Sonny keeps the feeling going by talking about how he learned to cook and the mistakes he made at first. As he sears the steaks, Mike puts together the salad and stirs the vegetables, refusing to sit and relax when Sonny tries to shoo him away.

"I'm feeling okay," Mike says as he slices tomatoes for the salad. "There's a little twinge in my ribs, but nothing major, and I've been asleep all day. I need to do something."

"Fine," Sonny says, sharing a quick, exasperated look with William, "but you're taking another pain pill the second anything moves past a twinge."

"Yes, dear," Mike says in singsong.

William laughs and looks between them. "For the record, I think this bickering is a very good sign."

"He's saying that as a divorced man who's been single for ten years," Mike says to Sonny.

Sonny makes a show of picking up the salt shaker and eyeing it. "How many grains of salt should I take with that statement, then?"

"Oh, you wound me," William replies, laughing. He picks up the wine bottle and freshens his glass, then holds it up towards Sonny.

"Please," Sonny says as he flips the steaks and presses the fatty sections against the side of the cast iron. "But honestly, William, thank you. That's nice to hear."

"You boys had something special before Mike had to leave," William says quietly. Sonny glances over his shoulder and isn't surprised that William is looking at Mike. He's also not surprised that Mike's got a small, rueful grin on his face and is concentrating very hard on mixing the salad greens. "I could tell from how Mike talked about you, and I only knew you from work, Sonny, but your compassion and loyalty have always been clear. It hurts me to know you two lost some time together and that you have to overcome something as hard as this, but I really do think you can do it."

"Dad," Mike says quietly, and there aren't tears in his eyes, but they're definitely in his voice.

"If I know anything from being a divorced man who's been single for a decade, it's this: Do your best to let the job be the job and let your home be home."

Mike looks at Sonny, and there are tears in his eyes now, but he's smiling soft and sweet. "That's pretty good advice."

Sonny has to blink back tears of his own. "Yeah, it is," he agrees.

Mike laughs suddenly. "Actually, come to think of it, Benson gave me that advice pretty soon after I joined the squad."

William laughs too, "Well, we may butt heads sometimes, but maybe that's because we're so similar."

Sonny joins in with their laughter, thinking about the face the Lieutenant would make if she found out she and the Chief agreed on something. "You should tell her when you get back," Sonny says. "I'll pay you ten bucks."

"Oh, no deal," Mike replies as he watches Sonny poke the steaks. "I don't need a demotion."

They all laugh again, and Sonny moves the steaks from the pan to a plate so they can rest. He tosses the lobster tails into the stock pot and sets a timer. "Who's setting the table?" he asks as he turns from the stove. 

"I'll do it," William says, standing from his seat. "Just point me towards where you store things."

Sonny's surprised Mike doesn't argue that he can handle it, but when Sonny glances at him, he reads the fatigue that's clearly come on fast. "Hey, sit down," he says quietly. "Your dad and I have this handled."

Mike looks ready to protest, but then he looks from Sonny to his dad and back and clearly decides it's not worth the fight. "Okay," he agrees. He picks up his wine glass and walks to the small table, sitting carefully in a chair. 

"Do you need a pill?" Sonny asks, watching the way Mike's being careful with his ribs.

"No," Mike replies after a moment. "I think sitting will take care of it."

"Maybe some ibuprofen?" William suggests. "It could take the edge off and let you stay awake through dessert."

Mike considers it. "Yeah, that could work."

"I'll get it," Sonny says. He goes into the bathroom and gets the ibuprofen, shaking out four tablets to take to Mike. When he steps back into the hallway, he can hear William and Mike talking softly. 

"--tonight, but I'm not sure if that's the right thing to do given everything," Mike is saying.

"Well, your bed's ready at my place whatever you decide," William replies.

"I don't want him to think I'm trying to move too fast," Mike says. 

Sonny drags his feet as he walks down the hallway, as much to drown out the conversation as to warn them he's coming. When he steps up to Mike, William is laying out forks, and Mike's pouring another inch of wine into his own glass. "You want water?" he offers.

"Please," Mike says. 

Sonny gets him a glass of water, then checks the timer. The lobster tails will be done in 30 seconds. "All right," he says, "Let's get ready to eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic hit 40K, and I have no idea when it's gonna end. Adventure!
> 
> Thank you, m, for the beta!


	13. Chapter 13

They take their time over dinner, talking and eating in equal measure. William tells stories about Mike as a child, and Sonny finds himself laughing more than once. Sonny replies with stories about himself and his sisters, and as they all finish their meal, William looks at Mike and his face gets very serious.

"I called your mother," he says quietly. "I told her you'd call her when you're feeling up to talking."

"You didn't have to do that," Mike says, looking torn between being touched and being annoyed. "I'm a big boy, Dad. I can handle Mom being angry about things."

"I know, but you've already got a lot on your plate, and it was something I could do. Has your brother called?"

"No," Mike answers, and he doesn't seem worried, but Sonny hurts for him all the same. He knows the family history, knows that Mike's brother has always taken Mike's leaving to live with William as a snub it never was. He knows that Mike found his peace with it years ago and doesn't think less of his brother for being unable to consider a different point of view. But Mike's back from the _dead_ for fuck's sake. Surely, that's worth something.

"You're about to snap your wine glass in half," Mike says to Sonny, the small smile on his face telling him he's caught Sonny's anger clearly.

Sonny slowly opens his hand. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Mike replies. He holds out his injured hand, and Sonny carefully wraps his fingers around Mike's.

"It's more than okay," William says, a proud smile on his face. "It's important to know you've got each other's backs."

"I'm not the one who has reason to wonder," Mike says, giving Sonny a soft look. 

Sonny looks at him for a long moment, simply taking him in looking apologetic and vulnerable. He thinks about his conversation with Father Al. He feels the guilt of not being the one to go on that call rise up again. "I'm glad you don't think so," Sonny says. "Because I thought so." It takes him a moment to realize he said the second part out loud.

"What?" Mike asks, leaning closer to Sonny. "Why would I doubt you had my back?"

Sonny feels the urge to back away, to ask Mike to pick up the conversation later, but that's never been his way no matter the audience, and he can feel the words crowding his mouth no matter. "I was supposed to go on that call, Mike."

Mike looks confused. William breathes out hard and mutters a swear, then slowly stands up from the table, obviously trying to move without being a distraction.

"What do you--"

"I didn't know," William says at the same time, his voice quieter than Mike's but more devastating in its tone. "Shit. Sonny." He turns from the table and walks to the kitchen island, picking up an unopened bottle of wine. His hands shake a little as he picks up the corkscrew.

"Here," Sonny says, without thinking again, holding out his free hand. "You might cut yourself."

William looks at the corkscrew, then at Sonny, then shakes his head. "No, I've got this. You and Mike talk."

"Oh, shit," Mike says. "Oh, shit, Sonny. You're talking about--"

"I was supposed to go on that call," Sonny repeats. He takes a slow, deep breath and listens to the sound of William popping the cork on the wine. "And until I talked to Father Al today, I didn't realize how much guilt I was carrying because of it."

"You'd have died," Mike says fiercely. "Actually died. If that bullet--"

"I know," Sonny interrupts. "Father Al made the same point. I didn't mean to just blurt out any of this. I'm sorry. I just…"

"You want to be honest," William says as he pours Sonny more wine. He pours Mike another glass as well. "That's good, too." He sets the bottle down on the table and looks at them both. "I can leave you to it. Let you talk."

"No," Mike and Sonny say at the same time. "We're kind of talked out about it all today," Mike adds when Sonny nods to let him say his piece. "We agreed we were done talking about it today."

"Clearly, that's not working," William says, but he sits and pours himself a half-glass of wine. 

"If I'd kept my mouth shut, it would have," Sonny says.

"No, I'm glad you said it," Mike replies. "It means I can tell you right now that I don't hold it against you that you didn't go on that call. I'm also glad Rollins didn't go on it, or Fin, or the Lieu. Any one of you could have gotten hit a lot worse than I did, and we'd have lost you."

Sonny chuckles wetly. "That's your pitch?" he says. "At least you didn't _die_?"

Mike chuckles with him. "Well, it's worked so far."

Sonny can't help but lean in and kiss him, feel his breath and the stubble on his cheek. "You're fucking impossible."

Mike shrugs, smiling like he's lit from within. "It keeps me interesting."

Sonny doesn't answer with words, just gives Mike one more warm look and then looks at William, who is leaned back in his chair and sipping his wine, clearly happy to let them have their moment. "This seems like a good time for dessert," Sonny says.

William stands. "Let me," he says. He walks over to the fridge and takes out the cheesecake. He pauses with the box between his hands and then sets it on the counter. He looks at Sonny and MIke, his face very serious but softened by the affection in his eyes. "I don't want either of you to think I'm trying to dictate how you move forward. Especially you, Mike. You spent a lot of years having to argue for what you wanted when I should have listened and helped you achieve your own goals, not just mine."

"Dad--"

"Let me finish, please," William says, holding up his hand. He waits for Mike's nod. "I want you two to consider more than just the mandatory therapy you'll need to complete to be back in the field. And I want you to consider having therapy for yourselves and as a couple. What you've been through isn't just a difficult undercover assignment or a shooting or a realization that you've been carrying guilt you shouldn't be carrying. And while I am personally beyond happy to see that you've come back together like it's natural, I just need you both to know that I'll support any help you both need to get on an even keel again."

Sonny watches the way William deflates after he's said what he needs to. His shoulders relax, and his stance widens a little. Sonny's seen his speech-giving stance plenty of times. He's never seen William release from it before. He feels like he's being trusted with a minor but important secret, that Chief Dodds has a deep well of sympathy and love inside him, but he's careful about who sees it. Given his position in the NYPD, Sonny can't blame him.

"I think that's a good idea, Dad," Mike says. "I was already planning to do more than the mandatory sessions anyway, but the couples thing, I think that's smart."

"Me, too," Sonny adds. "On both counts. I probably should have been seeing a therapist this whole time, honestly."

"Well, we can start together," Mike tells him. "We can look up options in a few days, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sonny agrees. He looks up as William puts the cheesecake on the table and holds out forks. 

"This is how MIke and I always eat one," William explains. "No plates, just forks."

"I like it," Sonny says, taking a fork. He lets Mike get the first bite off the cheesecake, then spears his own. "As long as we're talking about things," he says slowly, watching Mike's face to be sure it's okay. Mike nods. "I haven't told my folks yet that you're safe."

"I could do it for you," William offers.

"That's not--"

"I know it's not necessary," William interrupts, "but I'd like to help take some of the weight you're carrying. I knew he was alive this whole time, Sonny. You've got a lot to process right now. I have a lot less."

"Let Dad do it," Mike says when Sonny doesn't answer right away. "Let him help."

Sonny considers it. He's been dreading the call, honestly. His family will be over the moon to know that Mike is safe, but the emotional work to get through their first--likely understandably confused and angry--reactions would be nice. He thinks about Amanda's text dump when getting the news. No doubt his parents will respond the same, but over the phone, and definitely very loudly. 

"Okay," Sonny says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "I can give you my mom's number. She's the easiest one to reach."

"I could call her right now," William offers. 

Sonny looks at his mom's contact information. "That's tempting," he says. He tries to come up with reasons to put it off, but nothing solid comes to mind, and he can feel his stomach tightening at the idea of leaving it for later. "I think it's best if I call from my phone," he says slowly, letting himself feel the words. "That way, she won't worry that the Chief of Detectives is talking to her."

"That's smart," William says. He eats a bite of cheesecake, as relaxed as he was a few minutes ago.

Sonny lets go of Mike's hand to push his hair off his forehead. He takes a deep breath. "I don't know why this feels so hard," he says. "They're going to be happy you're okay."

"Sounds like a good conversation for a therapist," Mike replies.

Sonny chuckles. "Yeah, it does." He takes another deep breath and taps the screen to start the call. 

His mom answers on the second ring. "Oh, there you are!"

"Hey, Ma," Sonny says. "You busy?"

"Not a bit. Your dad got us burgers from that little place next to his work tonight, so we've had a quiet night."

"Good." Sonny glances at William, who gives him an encouraging smile. "Ma, I've got Chief Dodds here with me, and he wanted to talk to you about something. It's nothing dangerous or bad, but it's...it's pretty surprising."

There's a noticeable pause. "Okay, sweetheart," his mom says, clearly concerned.

"Um. You should probably put him on speaker and make sure Dad can hear him, too," Sonny adds. 

"You're sure this isn't bad news?" 

"It is definitely not bad news," Sonny says. 

"Okay. You give Chief Dodds the phone."

"Okay. Just a sec." Sonny holds the phone out to William and watches him take it like it isn't a time bomb just waiting to trigger. 

"Hello, Mrs. Carisi," William says. He laughs lightly as he stands from the table. "Tessa, of course," he says. "Please, call me William. I'm actually calling in a sort of half-official capacity." He takes a few steps away from the table and rests one hand on the back of Sonny's couch. "Hello, Dominick," he says a moment later. "Can you both hear me? Good." 

"This is surreal," Mike whispers to Sonny. 

"Which part? Your dad talking to my parents, or your dad telling my parents you're not dead?"

"All of it," Mike replies. They both go quiet as William speaks again.

"I need to give you some information that will no doubt have you asking a lot of questions, but please bear with me for a few minutes as I explain how things have happened." William glances at Sonny and Mike, giving them a reassuring smile. "Thank you. I appreciate it. The first thing you need to know is that Mike Dodds--my son--is alive."

William pulls the phone away from his ear when Sonny's mom screams. Mike jumps at the sound, which carries across the room easily. Sonny doesn't flinch, though he does realize he should have warned William that his mom has exactly one reaction to surprising news, and that's a scream with a decibel level that gets decided on a case-by-case basis.

"Wow," Mike whispers, rubbing at his ears.

"Get used to it," Sonny says as William puts the phone back to his ear and continues the conversation. "You're gonna hear it a lot."

Mike leans in, pulling Sonny close with an arm around his shoulders. "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that." He presses a kiss to the side of Sonny's head. "I can't thank you enough for being willing to give me another chance."

Sonny swallows hard, determined not to brush off what Mike's saying. "I can't thank you enough for understanding it's something you have to earn."

Mike presses another kiss to Sonny's head, then presses his forehead to Sonny's temple. "Dad has a room set up for me at his place. I'll be staying there for the foreseeable future. I'd like to stay over here with you, too, whenever you're okay with that."

Sonny thinks about the conversation he'd heard when he'd gotten Mike ibuprofen earlier. Mike talking to William about not wanting to seem too forward. It warms him from the inside out, that Mike is worried about asking to stay but that he's asking anyway. "Stay the night," Sonny says, sliding a hand over Mike's knee. "We can spend the day tomorrow just doing...whatever. You can go back to your dad's tomorrow sometime."

"You are entirely too good to me," Mike says. 

Sonny lifts Mike's chin so he can kiss him on the mouth. "I think the same about you," Sonny says. He presses his palm to Mike's cheek and looks into his eyes. "I want to pick up where we left off, or as close as we can get. You used to stay the night sometimes."

"I did," Mike agrees, smiling wide. "Thank you for letting me do it again."

"You're welcome," Sonny says quietly. 

They sit in silence, just feeding off each other's closeness for a few minutes. When William clears his throat to let them know he's done with his call, they turn towards him at the same time. 

"Your parents send their best," William says to Sonny. "And they're glad you're safe," he says to Mike. "And I'm not sure how many of your father's threats I should take personally, but your mother immediately invited me to dinner after he made them, so I think I'm safe."

"Tessa's the one you've got to win over," Mike says. "So, you're off to a good start."

"Oh, good," William says. He sits and slides Sonny's phone back to him, then picks up his fork. "Shall we finish dessert?"

Sonny and Mike each pick up their forks, and all three spear another bite off the cheesecake at the same time. 

"I'm staying here tonight, Dad," Mike says after they've had a few more bites.

"Good," William replies, and nothing about his posture or mood changes, but Sonny senses a shift in the air, like William is letting go of the last tension he's held for the situation. Sonny laughs, head thrown back.

"What?" Mike asks.

Sonny shakes his head. He doesn't know how to explain it. That all three of them are clearly feeling the same relief. That he's so happy he feels like he could fly. "Nothing," he says. "Everything. I don't know."

"Sounds about right," Mike says, and that sets off Sonny laughing again. 

*

William leaves an hour later, hugging them both goodbye and pulling his little sparkle cart behind him. Sonny shuts the door and throws the locks, then turns and pulls Mike towards him by his shirt. "Come to bed," he says. "Let's go to sleep."

"Gladly," Mike replies.

They get undressed and brush their teeth, and they climb into bed together. Sonny pulls Mike towards him, careful of his bruises and other injuries. He presses Mike's head to his chest and slides his hand up Mike's arm, feeling the strength in his tendons, the heat of his skin. The very real feeling of his life in the way his pulse thumps in his elbow. 

"I love you," Mike says, burrowing against Sonny like he always does.

"I love you," Sonny replies, scratching his nails lightly over Mike's scalp as he always does. 

Whatever happens tomorrow or the day after or the day after that, Sonny knows, they'll make it through together. Mike is here, and so is Sonny. That's all they need to push forward. They can figure out the rest as they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm pretty sure this is the end to the main story, but there's an epilogue to come and I also don't trust this story not to birth a couple extra chapters even though I think it's finished. We'll see.


	14. Chapter 14

They do nothing important the next day, and it's exactly what Sonny needs. They have breakfast, and they lounge around his apartment, then Mike goes with him to get the few groceries Sonny still needs to round out his supplies. 

Late in the afternoon, after Mike's slept off another pain pill, he wakes up and kisses groggily at Sonny's shoulder and neck. "Think I'll meet Dad for dinner then head to his place," he says, then yawns.

"Okay," Sonny replies. "I was gonna go to Amanda's tomorrow to see her and Jesse. You're invited."

"What time?"

"Noonish."

"Okay. Meet you here first?"

"Sure."

*

"You don't look too bad from having your ass kicked," Amanda says in greeting to Mike.

Mike grins and takes her hug. "Thanks. I assume the one I'm getting from you will leave me a lot worse off."

"Mine's on hold," Amanda says, cutting Sonny a quick grin. "This guy vouched for you."

"Lucky me," Mike says. 

Jesse runs up to Sonny with a shriek of "UNCA!" and squeals in delight when Sonny scoops her up and holds her over his head. 

"How's my girl?" he asks, tucking her against his hip so they're face-to-face.

"Unca!" Jesse repeats, clapping her hands. She squeals and hugs him, then gives him a wet kiss on the cheek. 

Sonny turns so Jesse can see Mike. "Jesse, this is Mike. He's an uncle, too."

Jesse claps and holds out her arms. "Unca! Unca! Unca!" 

Mike laughs in delight and reaches for Jesse, wincing as he puts too much pressure on his splinted fingers.

"I can--" 

"No," Mike cuts off Amanda. "It's fine. He gets Jesse settled on his hip and beams at her. "Hi, Jesse."

"Hi!" She gives him the same hug and wet kiss she gave Sonny, then immediately lifts up her shirt to show her belly. "Look!"

"Oh my god," Amanda mutters with the exasperated fondness of mothers everywhere.

Sonny just laughs, too busy taking photos as fast as he can to reply any other way. 

"You keeping the beard?" Amanda asks a few minutes later as she pours coffee for the three of them. She and Sonny are in her kitchen. Mike's on the couch with Jesse on his lap, nodding seriously as she babbles at him and waves a stuffed hippo around. 

Sonny shrugs and runs his fingers through his beard. "I don't know. Maybe. What do you think?"

"You look good with it," Amanda answers, handing him a coffee mug. "Keep it if you like it."

"Yeah," Sonny agrees, then picks up Jesse's sippy cup to carry it into the living room while Amanda handles the other coffee cups. 

*

**William:** Thanks for those photos of Mike and Jesse. Really brightened my day.

**Sonny:** Thought they might.

*

**Mom** : Why is Mike black and blue? 

**Mom** : Tell Amanda we'd love to visit her next weekend when we're in Manhattan to see Bella and Tommy and Izzy. 

**Mom** : We want to see you, too, of course, but your dad and I thought it'd be best to let you set the schedule. 

**Sonny** : He took a couple hits while he was getting out of his undercover gig. Nothing serious. Amanda says she's already been texting with Bella to get them all in the same room to make things easier for you. 

**Sonny:** We'll see you soon. I promise. 

* 

Mike is in the squad room when Sonny walks in for his first day back. He'd known he'd be, but seeing him there in his work clothes trips Sonny's brain for a moment, and he has to remember he's not seeing a ghost. 

"Looking good for a dead man," Fin says, giving Mike a nod. "Don't love that you pulled this shit, but I get it. I did some deep cover myself back in Vice." 

"I appreciate that," Mike says, and some tension in his shoulders loosens. 

"Morning," Sonny says, walking up to them both. "You cleared for desk duty?" he asks Mike. 

"Next week," Mike says. "But I thought I'd drop in and say hi to everyone before then. Help them get used to the fact that I'm…" he cringes a little, "not dead." 

"We're happy to get used to it," Liv says as she walks out of her office. She smiles at Sonny. "And we're glad to have you back, too. I like the beard." 

"Thanks," Sonny says. 

"You almost look old enough to drink," Fin adds. 

Sonny laughs. "Oh, good, it's working." 

"Morning," Amanda says as she walks up to them. "Good to see you back in the squad, Sarge," she says to Mike. 

"Thanks," Mike says. 

"I have more good news," Liv tells them, "though you being back is still going to win," she says to Mike. Mike snorts. "As of this morning, our two new detectives are staying on indefinitely." 

"No shit?" Fin asks. 

"We sure we got enough coffee for that?" Amanda says. 

"No shit," Liv replies with a smile, "and we'll order more if we need it. But, yes, they're our new kids to train up." She gives Sonny a warm look. "Show them your ropes this week, Carisi. The rest of us have done what we can." 

"I'll do my best, Lieu," Sonny replies. 

* 

Sonny's personal therapist listens to the story of Mike and the undercover assignment with ever-widening eyes. 

"Well," he says after a pause, "that's new." 

Sonny laughs. "Yeah, it's definitely not common, I would think." 

"It's not," the therapist agrees. "But it doesn't mean there aren't common feelings and reactions to discuss. I think we can be a good team to help you work through...all of that and also any other issues we might find along the way." 

"I'd like that," Sonny says. "Let's do it." 

* 

Mike goes to Mass and dinner with Sonny on the next Sunday. His eyes is mostly healed, and he's off the prescription pain meds. His fingers are unsplinted but still a bit tender. 

"Good," Ma says when Mike reports this all to her as he and Sonny stand in the living room in Staten Island waiting for everyone to get their coats on so they can go to Mass. "We have a lot to be thankful for," she says. 

"More than usual," Dad adds, reaching out to pat Mike's shoulder. He looks at him, then at Sonny. "Our boys are home safe." 

Sonny isn't surprised Mike has tears in his eyes. He does, too. "Thanks, Dad," he says. 

"And don't worry about anyone asking you questions," Ma says to Mike. "Father Al and I have been warning people to mind their business the last couple of weeks." 

"Which should leave only about a quarter of the congregation asking too many questions," Dad says. 

"Well, and Emma," Ma says with a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure she'll say something rude at dinner." 

"Thanks for the warnings," Mike says. "We'll make it work." 

* 

"I just wonder how we can trust anything you say," Aunt Emma says out of nowhere halfway through dinner. She's trying to stare Mike down, but he's unphased. "With what you did." 

"You don't need to trust me," Mike replies. "Sonny needs to trust me." 

"And I do," Sonny says, taking Mike's hand. 

"So, you have nothing to wonder about," Mike says, giving Aunt Emma a flat look. 

"Won't stop her," Dad mutters just loudly enough to carry, and the entire table collapses into laughter. 

"Dominick!" Ma says, poking his arm, but she's clearly trying not to laugh herself. 

"Sorry, was that out loud?" Dad asks. 

Aunt Emma stays quiet the rest of the meal. 

* 

The couples's counselor listens to Mike and Sonny explain their history without giving away any shock or surprise. 

"This isn't the first time I've dealt with this," she says, "but previous clients were dealing with partners faking their deaths to get away and then coming back and saying they wanted a second chance." 

"How'd that go?" Mike asks, unable to stop a chuckle. 

"I'm glad to report all the partners who were lied to came to a point where they saw the manipulation and emotional abuse for what it was and were able to get away." 

"Is that what you see here?" Sonny asks, squeezing hard at Mike's hand. 

"No," the therapist says. "I see a complicated situation that you're both very aware needs to be discussed and understood. This is very different." 

Sonny breathes out hard. "Oh, good." 

Mike squeezes his hand. "Very good." 

* 

William becomes a regular visitor to Sonny's place, always bringing something to make for dinner. "You're welcome to come to my place," he says on the fourth or fifth time he's shown up, Mike along with him as always. "But I don't even know where everything is in my kitchen, so I think it'd be a little more difficult." 

"I like having guests," Sonny says. "Don't worry about it." 

They make dinner and have beers and talk and laugh, and for dessert, they have cheesecake with three forks like always. 

* 

Two weeks after Mike is back at work, he's cleared for field duty. Two days later, they have to serve a no-knock warrant on a domestic abuser. Sonny has to take a few deep breaths on the ride over and remind himself it'll be okay. They're all wearing vests. They're going in as a team. This isn't the same as last time, not even a little. 

"Hey," Mike says quietly as the van rumbles around a corner, "I want you on my six, okay?" 

Sonny relaxes completely. "Okay," he says, grateful that Mike trusts him enough to have him at his back. 

The warrant goes off without a hitch, and Sonny thanks God for the protection.<

* 

Two months after Mike is back, his phone rings. He looks at the number and gives Sonny an apologetic look. "My mom," he says, standing up from the couch and tapping the phone to accept the call. 

Sonny turns sideways so he can watch Mike while he talks. Mike had called her once, weeks ago, and left a message, apologizing for the need to lie and saying he understood if she needed more time to process. 

"Mom, hi," he says. His shoulders go tense immediately. "I know," he says. He presses a hand to his forehead and stands very still. 

Sonny stands up from the couch and walks up to him, touching his arm and tilting his head in question. Mike shrugs and gives him a sad smile that says it's going exactly like he thought it would. Sonny opens his arms, and Mike leans against him, keeping up a litany of "Yes" and "I know" and some reassuring noises for several minutes. 

He goes absolutely rigid from something she says, and then in a low, controlled voice says, "Don't talk about Dad like that." He hisses at her response. "Mom, I'm serious. Don't. I understand that you're angry about what happened, but I don't want to--don't put him on the phone." 

Sonny presses his face into Mike's hair as he feels the fight go out of Mike. "Hi, Matt," Mike says. "I really don't want to talk to you right now...Okay, I get it, but I really don't want to--" 

Sonny lets go of Mike and taps his wrist. Mike looks at him in confusion. Sonny points to the phone and holds out his hand. "Matt, hold on," he says, then drops the phone and covers the speaker. "What?" 

"Let me talk to him." 

"Sonny, I've got this." 

"Your mom's violated your boundaries twice. Your brother's doing it right now. They aren't going to listen to you. Let me tell them to shove it." He holds up his hands when Mike gives him a hard look. "Politely," he says. "Like how you shut up Aunt Emma." 

Mike's hard look doesn't waver, but he holds out the phone. 

Sonny puts it to his ear. "Hi, is this Matt?" 

"Who is this?" Matt snaps. 

"This is Sonny. I'm Mike's boyfriend. I know you and your mom are upset and confused about everything that happened, but you don't get to steamroll him about it." 

"Put my brother back on the phone." 

"No. You and your mom need to take some more time and find a way to talk to Mike without berating him. Call back when you think you can do that." 

Sonny ends the call and slides Mike's phone into his back pocket. It rings again almost instantly, and Sonny shakes his head when Mike tries to reach for it. "It's not gonna be a better conversation right now." 

Mike sighs. "I know." 

Sonny reaches for Mike's hands and pulls him close. "You okay?" 

Mike thinks for a moment. "I guess I know where to start with my therapist tomorrow." 

Sonny smiles and kisses him. "Yeah, I think I'll be talking about your mom and brother this week, too." 

"We can compare notes afterwards," Mike says. 

"Yeah, let's do that," Sonny agrees. 

* 

Seven months after Mike comes back, Sonny wakes up on a shared day off and watches Mike sleep for a few minutes. He's completely relaxed, covers half-kicked off, one foot dangling off the bed. He still lives at his dad's, but more and more, he's been staying the night with Sonny. 

Mike wakes up with a sleepy sort of alertness, eyes opening quickly, but dropping to half-mast when he sees Sonny looking. "Hi," he says. 

"Hi," Sonny replies. "Wanna get brunch today?" 

"Yeah." 

"Wanna watch a movie later?" 

"Sure." 

"Wanna move in with me in a few months?" 

_That_ gets Mike's eyes wide. "What?" he asks. 

Sonny grins, delighted to have caught Mike by surprise but twice as delighted to watch the way Mike smiles at the question. "My lease it up in three months. You haven't gotten a new place yet. We could get one together." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah." 

Mike lifts himself up and throws himself at Sonny, burying his face against Sonny's neck and nuzzling. "Yeah," he says. "Let's figure it out." 

Sonny finds he can't speak, suddenly too full from happiness and love to say anything past the lump in his throat. He curls a hand around the back of Mike's neck and taps twice just under his ear. 

Mike lifts his head from Sonny's neck and presses a messy kiss to his cheek. "I love you, too," he whispers, and Sonny knows it'll stay that way for the both of them forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that. Thank you so much to everyone who commented along the way, and thanks to my betas for doing such good work. A special bit of love to Sounds, who looked at more chapters than anyone and did a great job reassuring me when I was worried I was just blathering on. 
> 
> None of the betas have seen this chapter. I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> Mike Dodds isn't dead. He's undercover with a beard, and it looks good.


End file.
